I was lying in our crib around midnight, or was it in the wee hours of the morning? Whatever time it was, I had suddenly gotten the urge to do what old folks do in those darkest hours, so I grabbed the side of the mattress to pick myself up to a sitting position. I was doing okay picking myself up, that is until I started sliding off the bed. I tried to stop my slide, but I couldn't, so I said to myself, "enjoy the ride" The ride seemed like it was in slow motion because it seemed like it was taking forever for me to hit the floor but hit the floor I did. I tried getting up, but I couldn't because the golden years wouldn't let me.
I needed help, but who could I yell out to? Connie? She was asleep, though she'd whistle in between snores when I crash-landed. James? His room is on the other side of the house, too far to yell. Fernie? His room is next to ours, but I don't know because his mind sometimes is in a different universe. That left Chata, the old English bulldog, but I didn't dare ask her for help because she growled ( she sleeps in our room) when I hit the floor. But, anyway, knowing her, I'm sure she would have just called me pendejo. It took me a while, but I did get up on my own, and though the landing was soft, I'm aching this morning.
