nine lives

I remember thinking it was odd that someone would so suddenly jut the left front corner of their car out from their parallel parking spot and into traffic like that, but before I had a chance to really meditate about it I was flying through the air and tumbling along the asphalt of Beaubien Avenue and I remember clearly the loud ripping noise of metal behind me and I remember thinking that I was going to stop when I hit the ground but I didn't and I kept tumbling, wondering how bad this was going to be, while I rolled and my bike rolled with me.

Maybe it was my bag full of library books (Barthes' critical essays, a collection by Stuart Hall, some writings by Arjun Appadurai and others on circulation and collections) that saved me, or maybe those heavyweight tomes provided the counterweight that kept me spinning; that made me fly so far. Maybe it is my helmet that I owe all the thanks to.

Well, I extracted myself from the mess on the ground and looked back at the car, it's bumper, hanging off like a peeled ear of corn, bobbing as the driver pulled out into the street. There was another cyclist who had come up; she was collecting the bits of my bike for me. "Do you see any blood on me?" I asked; for I was worried that my nose was broken, but there was no blood.

The driver stepped out and embraced me. He said he was so sorry and that he was concerned I was not ok. I apologized about his bumper and he said he didn't care. I felt suddenly like I was in the centre of an arena for all around me a crowd was staring, gasping. There was a whole bar full of people across the street looking at me with slack jaws and dead expressions. When the ambulance came to take me I went over there to lock my bike and not one said a word to me. No "ca va?" and no "are you ok?". Those people are useless jerks.

The police and the paramedics asked me again and again if I knew the date and I did, and felt lucid and alert. I remembered everything clearly. There was no blood on me, just some small scrapes on my legs and an ache in my left hand where I must have softened my fall.

I didn't think I needed an ambulance, but I've seen enough accidents to know that I was probably in shock, and I didn't want to lie on the stretcher because my neck felt fine, but the paramedic told me it would be better to come in on a stretcher at the hospital because I'd get priority. It made sense and I let myself get strapped in.

I made it through triage ten times faster than everyone else, but I still had to spend five dull chilly hours (I was in shorts and a t-shirt) waiting at Jean Talon Hospital on what was, I discovered, Hawaiian shirt day for the staff. They x-rayed my spine and head and did other shit and they let me go. I walked home in the dark feeling hypervigilant and nervous about every street I had to cross.

I came home and lay down on my bed and I dreamed that I was torn into pieces and glued back together like a collage with bits of paper and plastic and glass hands that were full of spider cracks and then as I slept and healed the parts all began to melt into each other and I began to feel like a whole body once more. My parts started to connect and interact as a single unit again. I woke up after a couple of hours, aching all over, but generally feeling alive and happy about it. I hurt all over, though, and I think tomorrow is going to be a long day.