Things look different from down here

Being Frank, by Frank Ameduri

Well, at least you have your health. How many times have you heard it? When I was younger, it was always a slap in the face. It's one of those phrases that carries more punch with what's left unstated … when you're young. Something's supposed to go in front of that, right? The reason the girls giggle when you enter a room isn't because you're funny … but at least you have your health. There's no way you're ever going to get a real job … but at least you have your health. That's what they mean when you're young.

This week I reached one of those major milestones in life, however. I've reached that point at which, from now on, I'll actually smile and nod when someone says the health thing. Oh, yeah.

This week a tree blew down into our backyard. It wasn't much of a tree, and it was still sort of connected to itself about eight feet off the ground, so it didn't smash the fence. It fell from the vacant lot behind the house. Being a guy who had better things to do, I figured the fastest way to deal with the problem was to just hoist that bugger off the ground and shove it back over on its own side of the fence. Trees, I've discovered, are like ocean waves. They don't seem like much until they're on you. I hoisted the tree up, but it had apparently fallen into a freak high-gravity vortex. I pulled up again, this time twisting toward the fence in an effort to whisk the tree over in one, deft move. For a moment I thought I'd actually snapped the thing in two when a loud popping noise sent the dogs scrambling for cover.

As it turned out, that sound was my lower spine trying to get out of my back. It didn't hurt too bad at first, so I went in for the Skilsaw, a hand saw and a hatchet. In the end, the hatchet turned out to be the right tool … we really didn't need that Skilsaw, anyway. I parted the tree up Paul Bunyan style and headed in for a cold frothy one. Two hours later, with my back singing the Battle Hymn of the Republic in tongues, I cursed that tree.

By the next morning my lower spine had become a tightly-wound spring. I woke up to the sound of my own sobs. There was no standing up, but after an hour or so, I couldn't just lay there anymore. I slid out of bed onto the floor and rolled myself onto my side. From there, it was only a 15-minute slide to the living room. Amen for wood floors.

Of course, the dogs thought this was just about the most interesting thing they'd ever seen. They danced around me, hopped over me, growled and barked a little. "Look at Frank!" they must have been thinking. "Isn't he funny?" Fifteen minutes later, I lay huffing on the living room floor. With my body covered in sweat, I'd managed to pick up six or seven pounds of dog hair along the way. I looked like a 50-year-old teddy bear with scoliosis. It was then that the dogs began to get concerned.

When they stopped spinning around and howling with entertained glee, they just sort of stared at me for a while. "OK, that was cool. Now what?" It didn't take long for them to come to grips with the one thing that really matters to dogs in the end. They began to understand that I was perfectly content to lay on the floor, and that their food wasn't anywhere near the floor. They must have wondered how long they had to wait before being justified in eating me. We did get it worked out, but I spent the next several days nursing a bad back.

When your back's out, everything weighs 250 pounds. A flight of stairs might as well be Everest. I'm starting to feel better now. Getting more and more erect each day, I've been a living depiction of evolution since Wednesday. So, sure, I'm not the world's best writer, and I'm not much of a looker … but at least I have my health.

Frank Ameduri plans revenge on the miscreant tree as soon as he can get down the stairs.