I actually have a clipping of it: it made the front page of the Reno Gazette. In the photo, I have a weird expression on my face as they're maneuvering over me in the gurney. I'm actually starting to giggle, because by the time the ambulance came I realized I was okay and now this enormous fuss was being made over me. The guy who hit me was named Clarence, I recall. He was an old guy and I think he was more in danger of having a heart attack than I was of having sustained any injury. I flew over the hood of his truck and landed and it was like I had stubbed my toe, hard, but now my whole body was my toe. And just like a stubbed toe, the pain faded. Enter: ambulance and a photographer from the newspaper. Slow news day, apparently.
As a result, I am now a fearless pedestrian. And for most of my adult life, I have been fearless, fueled by some nameless directive to move forward, hell, run forward and damn all consequences. I was thinking about this last night, as the evening cooled off after another damn hot day. I wonder if Clarence somehow put the rest of my life into motion, because shortly after(within 2 weeks), I had run away from home for the third time, which proved to finally be the charm. But I find that I'm not fearless anymore. And that bothers me. I'm far from fearfull, but I worry about health and money and dying alone, that kind of crap. Of being a mediocre artist. Of having learned nothing. Of having little time to actually accomplish something. And then I take a big breath, get a grip, and say to myself: Shit. Join the crowd. I guess a little fear is normal, natural, even a good idea sometimes. Perhaps another lesson in moderation.