I was reading my cousins' blog today and I was thrust back a quarter of a century to the same location she wrote about. She took a picture of where she fell on ice outside her old apartment. A generation before, in this same location, I experienced the most embarrassing moment of my life. Thankfully, no one ever admitted having seen my wretchedness.
I chose to go to BYU for all the wrong reasons. A boy with gorgeous brown eyes, who I barely knew, whispered of possibilities. With visions of a Hollywood style romance I moved to Provo in between Christmas and New Years so we could be twogether. The man of my dreams took me skiing, where I promptly fell and broke my knee cap. I realize, that many will say you can't break your knee cap, but that is how it was explained to me by the emergency room doctors, after the nice ride down the slope in the toboggan.
Well, two days later a romantic evening turned into a scene from C.O.P.S. After a screaming match,he slammed the door and suddenly, I was alone in a town that would not be peopled for another week. I had no food except oranges from the trees back home and I was on crutches. Hunger bade me to walk to the store. I put on my only boots--they had slick leather bottoms and soft leather going up to my shins. I felt fashionably ready to brave the elements.
I walked down the stairs of the apartment complex confident that I could take care of myself. But when my crutches made contact with the icy slope, my world turned upside down. Slowly, slowly I descended the decline. I had visions of being hit by a car, but thankfully there was a three foot pile of black snow separating me from the street. I landed in the dirty snow and couldn't dislodge the crutches. I tried to stand up, but continued to fall back down. Eventually, the crutches were free, but my shoes were so slick, that I fell again. After several more failed attempts, I realized I couldn't wear those boots anywhere. I finally got back on my feet and decided I better go back to the apartment and change my shoes.
I headed up the slope, only to slide back down (backwards this time) and land back in the dirty snow. After several attempts I improved on getting out of the snow pack, but I was still no closer to my apartment. Panic seized me as I envisioned the newspaper reporting a girl frozen to death on her front doorstep, unable to climb the incline. I worried of winning the Darwin Award. I finally laid on my stomach, threw my crutches ahead of me and commando crawled (with only one leg) up the ramp. I would move forward 6 inches only to slide back down two. I finally made it up the few feet to my door. I am certain no olympic champion has felt more joy at their feat than I felt that day when I finally reached the safety of my own front door. I have often wondered if anyone was looking out the window that day--I am not sure if I would be glad or horrified.
I am sorry cousin if that darn ramp got the best of you too.