The Great Bicycle Incident

One Saturday morning I went to an amazing local coffee shop, Viva Espresso, (http://vivaespresso.blogspot. com/) intending to write like a crazy woman. Later that day, I planned to finish painting the living room, work on this website, clean the house, and generally excel in the role of Domestic Goddess. I was feeling a little down what with the separation and all, but all in all the day held promise.

Then I eavesdropped on a conversation between my friend and Viva owner Megan and a guy who looked vaguely familiar, only to find that this guy owns a local farm and is selling CSA's (don't ask me what that stands for, or if I even spelled it right--it just means an awesome weekly delivery of fresh local produce each week. Nuff said.)

Now, I've been wanting to get hooked up with a CSA since last season. I had even researched them in my post-separation-announcement-distraction-activity-frenzy. But I was just too lazy to make the call. But there, right in front of me, was salvation. My CSA had come to me.

I accosted the man and his lovely wife (really, here they were trying to have a quiet cup of coffee when some psycho girl insists that she wants to buy a share now. Not fill out an application and mail it in, but do it now. Yeah, some days I make a GREAT first impression.)

In my zest and zeal at finding an easier way than phoning to get my CSA share, I told the farm owners to stay put and that I'd be back ASAP. Now, to clarify, I live within biking distance of the cafe. And of course, this morning, I had spaced on my bike helmet. Anyway, I leapt onto my bike and sailed down the street at a much faster rate than I ever bicylce. I couldn't believe my luck! I had stumbled onto my CSA. I had met nice people in the cafe. My friend Megan was being really supportive of me. My life, in short, was good.

In fact, it was better than good. Dare I say . . . it was nearly perfect. I was in the right place at the right time. I could do this. I could survive on my own. I was excited and fine and . . . oh, better stop biking on the sidewalk. There's a car coming. Better get out on the street before they get here . . .

I swerved. I hit a rut. I crashed. The car turned off long before it got to me, and I was left lying shaking in the street, alone. I'd broken my glasses when the handlebars smahed me in the face. My fun and funky rhinestoned glasses. My hands were scraped up. My elbow was skinned. And my shoulder hurt like hell. I sat for a minute. Someone walked by and didn't ask if I was ok.

Then it occurred to me. I will be alone for the rest of my life. If I'm sick, doesn't matter. I still have to be Supermom and support my daughter. If I'd broken my arm, I would be driving myself to the ER.

I picked up my bike and walked it home, sobbing all the way.

When I got home, I surveyed the empty, messy house--my daughter was at her Dad's. And I decided I might as well go back to the Cafe. Even if I bled to death internally on the way back, at least I could guarantee fresh veggies this summer for my daughter. And the likelihood of someone finding my prone and rotting corpse increased if I kicked it on the sidewalk. Besides, if I died at home my three dogs would probably eventually take advantage of it and have themselves a little snackie.

I walked back to Viva and handed over my check to a minimum of strange glances, given my tear-stained face and general shakiness. Then Megan took over. She sent me to the back of the cafe to clean up and cry. She gave me band-aids and neosporin and free coffee and a kiss on the forehead.

I told her my theory of aloneness, my image of the shattered armbone jutting out of my skin and bumping against the car door everytime I made a right turn on my way to the ER. And Megan said, "No, dear. That's why we have community."

I stayed a little longer, until Megan's physician hubby showed up with the kids and pronounced an ER visit unnecessary (ok. jutting out bones may have been a slight exaggeration.) Then I trudged back home.

I sat on the couch, and watched Gilmore Girls with one dog draped across my legs, one on my lap, and one on the floor at my feet. I felt loved. And a little better. Although, that could've been the massive amounts of Tylenol I downed.

Later, when I picked up my daughter, she delighted in being the mommy and taking care of me, insiting we put a bandaid on the unbroken skin of my shoulder, since it hurt. She also bandaged my hand and elbow, and gave me a lot of kisses. She also behaved impeccably.

All in all, I learned a lesson. While I could've taken away the message of "Once you start to feel good the universe is going to mess with you" (ok, that's exactly how I felt for the first few hours) I instead realized just how strong I was. And that I do have a community. Even if I'm just getting to know them. And that Damn! Megan is an amazing, caring person. And there are more people out there like her than I could ever imagine.

Oh. And always wear your helmet.

With big warm community hugs and kisses, and many promises to blog more often,

kat