Friedray, Densamber 6, 2002




Of course, it's weird that I'm even here, Diary. Remember that spin-out on black ice in the family station wagon on route 17 west of Tappahannock when I was like 18 or something? By rights, I and my hapless passengers should have hugged a tree at 60-miles-per-hour that night. I can only suppose that some celestial hand reached down and guided us through the gnarly oaks that were then looming on each side of that two-lane byway. (The celestial interloper must have also briefly stopped traffic in the opposite direction, for our car was doing the hokey-pokey and turning all about on that long and narrow skating rink.) Of course, we may have just gotten lucky in avoiding all those unforgiving trunks, but that didn't stop me from kissing the ground when we subsequently pulled into the driveway of an isolated farmhouse to await the thawing sunrise. The poignancy of that moment was compromised, however, when mom burst out: "Brian, get off the ground with those new pants; what do you think you're doing?!"

Then how about that time I bumped my noggin in grade school? Fell off me flippin' bike, I did. It raised a proper knot on my forehead, I may tell you. Are you kiddin', bystanders started believing in unicorns. Fortunately the noggin specialists at the local hospital managed to put my Humpty Dumpty of a head back together again. Otherwise, who knows? Oblivion might have been my portion (and that would have "sucked," as today's blunt-spoken youth might have put it). Fortunately, I was stubborn back then: I was like, "Tell Fate that oblivion isn't good enough!" (See? And yet I'm here: that's what gets me. I mean, ouch!)

And even if -- oh, diary! -- even IF I had survived all that (ha! fat chance!), what about Castro? Why, he came near to blowing me up when I was still knee-high to an ICBM! Fortunately, I was too young to entertain existential fears on that score, but it did make a body wonder why the kindergarten teachers always wanted us kids to play hide-and-seek under our desks. They were like, "When you hear the alarm, get under your desk." And we kids all nodded to each other knowingly, well aware that it was in our interest to humor any teacher that would make such whimsical demands. We're like: "Whatever you say, teacher, just don't excite yourself."

And yet here I am, as plain as the nose on your face -- indeed, as plain as the nose on Jimmy Durante's face, were he and his nose (and his face) still alive.

I mean, heaven must be missing an angel, Diary, huh? Or rather a scamp. YOU be the judge!