Down here on earth
I cut my left hand this morning. It was nothing serious, but it warranted the use of antiseptic spray. As I got the bottle out of the bathroom drawer, a memory came to me. I could recall the exact moment Ramón and I purchased that spray a decade ago. (That means I’m sure it’s expired, so I’ll let you know if this becomes a cautionary tale.)
We’d gone jogging together near our condo in Chamblee. As we were running, I stepped on an uneven piece of sidewalk and fell face first down a hill. It’s fine if you laugh. I scraped the palms of both hands and one of my shins. Tears welled up in my eyes, mostly because I was startled and embarrassed. Yes, some passing cars witnessed this moment of glory.
When I got up, Ramón hugged me. He said, “It must be hard down here on earth since you’re not using your wings.” I simultaneously laughed and rolled my eyes, impressed by his fast thinking. We swung by the grocery store to grab some first aid materials, and the wounds eventually healed.
That line, though, stayed with me. “It must be hard down here on earth since you’re not using your wings.”
At times it can be a little hard down here on earth without Ramón — but each time I’ve fallen, I’ve gotten back up.
I tried to find an angelic photo to include with this post. It turns out the last time I looked innocent was in 1993 when I performed as the Littlest Angel in Tulsa Ballet’s performance of the Nutcracker.