With my next pull, I slide a little more left. I manage to wedge the toe of my shoe on the edge of a shingle. With all apologies to Uncle Walt, I dig my foot in as I lean left. It takes a second before I can pick out the edge of the shed roof in the darkness. I’m higher than I expected.
The steeper angle of the barn roof means that I could close the distance if I slid back down towards the edge. That would also shrink my landing zone. I’ll take my chances where I am.
I slide farther left, until my chest is halfway over.
I risk one more glance upward. I don’t see it. While I’ve been repositioning myself, it has moved off of the peak. It might have gone back to the deck, or even back down through the hatch.
How smart is it? Did it coerce me into taking this path so I’ll drop into its waiting arms below? Now that it’s gone, perhaps I should consider climbing up to the peak.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. Once I’m up at the top, getting away will be a slow process. I would rather get down to a flat surface again.
I swing my leg over.
The lip of the roof is cutting into me in unpleasant ways. I rotate my hips over and commit more of myself to the idea of dropping. Once the bulk of my body is over, there’s no turning back. I’m going to slide down or over. They’re both horrible ideas, but I’ve worked so hard for this. I have to take the plunge.
My hands claw at the shingles as I try to slow my inevitable fall. The shingles cut deeper into the scrape on my arm and then I’m falling again. I try to twist in the air.
In the darkness, I’m so disoriented that I have no idea what is happening. My foot hits something and I try to absorb the impact with my leg. Then, something crashes into my head or rather my head crashes into something. It must be the wall of the barn, but I don’t know how I got spun around. My hand comes down weird and my wrist is bent backwards before I flip over and tumble. Then I’m falling again.
The scrape of the shingles is familiar.
I go over the edge head first. Dragging the toe of my left foot, helps me slow down and spin. When I hit the ground below, I land on my right shoulder. Something pops in my arm and I roll away from the pain. The dirt is softer than I imagined.
I blink up at the stars and I have one blessed second where I’m thrilled that I survived at all. Anything beyond this point is pure gravy. My next breath dulls my enthusiasm. A shooting pain stifles my inhalation. It feels like a knife has been shoved between my ribs.
That’s when I think about Mr. Engel again. I remember the panic in his eyes as he lay on his kitchen floor. He knew that death was coming and he was not at peace with the idea. I shouldn’t be either. I have to get up. I have to find safety.
Whatever was up on top of the barn tapping on the roof, it’s not alone.
I push myself up with my left hand, protecting my right arm instinctively. It takes me a second to catch my breath. Every time I try to take in air, my muscles tense up, anticipating the pain. It stabs me again and again.
Pushing up to my knees, my chest hurts a little less. My head is ringing.
I stumble to my feet and catch myself by leaning against the shed. From here, It’s about the same distance around the house as around the barn. There are no doors on this side of the house. I think that the terrain is easier around the house so I start to move that direction. If I had a key for the front door, that would be the quickest path. I don’t. As far as I know, there never has been a key for that door. I’ll have to go all the way around to the side door.
I’m still leaning against the wall when I reach the transition between the shed and the house.
Assessment
(It's time to reassess.)
It’s time to reassess.
I don’t know much of anything about navigating a big city. I have tons of ideas, but very little real world experience. This isn’t a non sequitur, I swear.
There are predators in any city—people who would like to take your money, possessions, or worse—but a lot of us are never going to run into them. Staying safe is a matter of both attitude and luck. We can move around on streets that are already well populated, and stay out of dark alleys, of course. Also, we can mind our own business and walk with unwavering purpose so we don’t get distracted by attempts to draw our attention. There’s also the matter of fear. I think that someone who is obviously anxious and wary might be a ripe target. They project their weakness and draw the predators to themselves.
So, by staying with the pack and maintaining the right mindset, we can reduce the odds that we’ll be preyed upon.
But what happens if we’re approached?
What do we do if someone steps in our path and initiates a conversation?
If you escalated immediately to panic, could you avoid conflict? If someone makes eye contact, should you turn and bolt? It would be an inconvenient strategy. But I wonder—aren’t victims most likely the ones who trade their safety for convenience? You cut across the park because it’s the shortest way home and you walk right into a mugging.
I’m not going to make the mistake of underestimating the danger here.
I need to make rational decisions. I’m not going to let myself panic.
But
