Shiny Silver Grill

Roller Skates

The day was neither bright and sunny, nor dark. The pavement on High Street was brand new, so we were making good use of it. Running up the hill, skating down.

There was that sharp granite boulder to be avoided at the corner of Everett Avenue; otherwise another bloody gash would ensue.

Every now and then we’d stop to tighten our skates, the ones that you attached to your sneakers by adjusting the fit with a key. Then we’d launch into our next screaming blast down the hill.

It was one of those days when time neither moved nor stood still. Dry, crunchy leaves swept across the road that curved just a bit at the top. It was a day when the clouds were dull as they are in either early April or late October. I had just made my umpteenth dash up the hill before leaping from the grassy shoulder onto the hardtop for another rocket ship race to the bottom.

I don’t remember tripping and falling.

I do remember, however, looking up to see this behemoth of a car with its shiny silver grill and its engine still pumping heat - somehow it had come to a complete stop just above my upturned face. And I remember a scream that sounded both distant and close, a wail that erupted from the gut of the driver who had just crested High Street, slamming her brakes fast enough and hard enough to avoid crushing me.