On Saturday, Feb. 28, 2015, I was hit by a white Nissan, in the middle of a crosswalk, on the walk light, on St. Paul's Grand Avenue.
I saw myself going over the car roof, rolling off the trunk and into the intersection — and directly under the wheel of the car behind the one that hit me.
It's true what they say about close calls with mortality: Everything. Slows. Down.
Take any normal day — you know, that hubris we all commit against "living attentively in the present moment" — when you're starting to cross a street on a walk light, minding your own business, not hurrying or distracted by a cellphone or music in earbuds, just walking across the street, and then suddenly you're dead.
Seems improbable given those conditions, but there it is.
Except, I am alive.
The driver braked just as her car bumper connected with my left knee, leaving me with little more than a bruise for a couple of days.
I'm one of the lucky ones.