Earlier this morning, while the house was still dark and everyone was still in their dreams, I went out to the backyard for my morning walk. As I sometimes do on my early morning walks, I had a lively conversation with my drunken imaginary friend, Beto. Just as I started to tell Beto that it was too freaking early to be drinking, I stepped on a hole, and with a twisted ankle, I did a sort of a sideways somersault. I landed on my left hip, and the first thing that flashed on my mind was my Pops face (he died after a fall and broken hip). It was, after all, a fall that rattled the rocks in my head. Beto said, as I checked myself for broken bones and found none, "por pendejo,"
I lay sprawled for a few minutes before I tried getting up. Just as I was going to ask Beto for help, he said "every man for himself," and with that, he was in the wind. Pinche Beto! - Unable to get back on my feet, I got on my knees and crawled to the chain-link fence that separates our backyard to a section that I call our "junkyard" because that's where all our junk lands. Finally, I was able to get up by grabbing the chain link and pulling myself up...Back in bed, and about an hour and a half later, Connie woke up. "Babe, I felled down," I mumble to her. "Are you okay?" she asked, "yes," I replied, "por pendejo" were her last words before she started sawing logs again. If Chata, our late British Bulldog, had been here, she would still be laughing at me - With this kind of friend's, who needs enemies?
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