An Angel?

In my mind lately, I’ve been replaying an event that happened about fifty years ago.  I believe I was seven at the time.  It involved a boy, (doesn’t it always?) and it was one of those things that still seems inexplicable.  It’s been on the back burner all these years and at the time, being so young, I didn’t read much into it.  But now?  Hmmmm.

I remember that a boy from around the block was waiting for me down the stairs.  Not inside the house, but outside.  My parents owned what was called a raised ranch.  It sat high up and there were twenty-one steps in a few twists that led up to the front door.  As kids, we often counted the steps in a chant or silently to ourselves when alone   I can just hear the people on HGTV’s House Hunters saying that all those cement steps wouldn’t be safe for kids/dogs/old folks.  But you know what? These were the fifties and sixties, and my parents just so happened to make it work out safely.  I only skinned my knee once running up the first little trot of five steps.  But back to the story . . . there was this other time . . .

Paul P. waited while I ran into my house for a few minutes.  At the age of nine-something, he was an older man!  He also had his own group of kids to hang with, so why he was on our street then, I don’t know.  I remember he was blond, and in later years when I saw Sam the Butcher on The Brady Bunch, I thought he could have been Paul’s father because they looked so similar.  No offense to the actor who played Sam the Butcher, but that’s not saying a whole lot, I know.  Yet there was Paul, cute to me then, and I began picking up the pace as I scrambled down my steps. After all, I didn’t want to keep him waiting!

At the top of the first landing after the four porch steps, I lost my footing.  I remember pitching forward and instantly thinking this wasn’t going to be good.  And then somehow, I ended up five plus steps later, upright and totally fine as if I’d done a huge somersault in midair! 

I was not a gymnast, not even close.  I had the Wetzel klutziness.  I was cursed with it as a matter-of-fact. This wasn’t an overdose of negative thinking, it was the truth.  I wasn’t coordinated.  I could run fast and beat the boys in a race, but other than that, I sorely lacked finesse.  My attempts at the cartwheel were laughable.  I threw like a toddler.  My moves were not like the future famous Jagger, but more like Romper Room stick horse riders (Baby Boomers should be able to relate to this).

When I shook off the fright of what had almost happened to me, I continued down the steps. Paul had been looking down the street and never witnessed my acrobatics. Nothing on me was even a bit scathed! Thinking back, my wrists or hands should have at least exhibited some mark or been achy. That was never the case.

So how can I explain this? Was there indeed an angel who helped me do a midair flip? Without the benefit of a rewind button, I’ll never know. But I’d like to think that it was an angel. Have you ever had something happen to you that defies rational explanation?

About andreamarjulie

Just trying to navigate a life circumvented by chronic migraines. Sometimes I write about managing with those, but at other times I am prone to deviate a bit.
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