bury my pride at wounded knee

The girl was out of the house early enough this morning to make her regular M train -- the one she hasn't made in a week because her new hairdo takes seven extra minutes to do -- except that she didn't even need the M train today. She had a conference to go to, where they'd tell her all about products that she can't afford to buy and doesn't have the authority to institute, even if she could buy them. And for the conference, any train would do.

It was snowing again, and, while the ever-affable newsman wasn't predicting it would stick, the girl was in her brand-new-thank-you-mom Christmas boots and decidedly not in her new woolen sailor pants recently purchased at H&M. (They'd get icky around the cuffs in the snow.)

Headed towards the subway at a decent clip, the girl was anticipating a nasty commute home that night, handing out Good Neighbor/Bad Neighbor awards in her head, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a patch of black ice just small enough to be invisible (and yet big enough to wreak serious havoc) slid itself blob-like under her boot. Her brand-new-thank-you-mom Christmas boot that was supposed to be good for expressly this kind of thing.

But oh, how it wasn't.

The girl went sprawling on the sidewalk, knees-first. (Which, if you can imagine, is just about the most unpleasant way to sprawl.) The butts of her hands landed next, and, if that weren't enough damage to do to a girl on her way to work, velocity (and the fact that she lives on a Slope) pushed her forward until her cheek actually kissed the ground.

A moment of silence, and utter devastation.

"Are you ok?" asked the sweet middleschooler who had no idea what to do with this Old Lady Wiping Out In Front of Her.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," said the girl, thinking that she was, in fact, fine.

But when she stood up and the pain shot through her knees, it took her breath away. "I'm fine," she added as best she could, and the sweet middleschooler ambled off.

Her pants were covered with dirty, salty, sidewalky crap, her cheek had similar schmutz on it, and all she wanted was to go home and not try this all over again. To curl up in bed and hide from the day. But alas, she had the conference.

So she trooped off to the subway, got on the M train (without an ounce of satisfaction or jubilation at actually making it) and checked out her knees.

They were still there. Greenish, swollen and missing a layer of skin, but still there and still functional.

The girl tried hard to count her blessings and hold back her tears. After all, she had the conference to go to.