14. The Fremont Fall

Summer solstice. June 21. First day of summer. Longest day of the year. Funnest parade in Seattle (a.k.a., the Fremont Solstice Parade). Lots of naked bicyclists roaming around in painted-on costumes. Russia defeating Holland during the Euro 2008 quarterfinals.

And the day a fat girl fell on me.

I’d spent most of the day on the larger of two patios at the George & Dragon pub – a tradition during the Solstice Parade (and many many summer evenings). The Russia/Holland game was replaying on outdoor TVs. A picnic table in the corner had been my roost since around noon; friends and I shared it with a couple of jovial Peruvians for most of the day and into the night.

One of the Peruvians liked to dance. The beer I’d been drinking decided I liked to dance, too. But alas, there wasn’t any space near our table. So we threaded our way through the crowd to the smaller patio. Closer to the music. Closer to the DJ. And closer to the rebroadcast soccer game. Several people were standing on picnic tables, watching it. The picnic-table-standers definitely opened up more dancing space.

Mr. Peruvian saw someone he knew. Got distracted. I stood watching them chat, realizing for the first time in about eight hours that he wasn’t the tallest person I’d ever met. I was in flip flops, a regular in the Petite section…and he wasn’t any taller than I was. But he had a cute accent, knew a lot about German cars (love that!), and had the amazing shoulder/hip ratio only short guys are lucky enough to be born with. Plus he played lots of soccer, which I adore for reasons purely aesthetic (see Hap 10 for more on that).

I peeked at the game through cracks between the table-standers. Mostly women, mostly in outfits more suitable for a downtown club than a british-style pub with a great jukebox, strong pours, and very questionable restrooms. Certainly their satin tops, white jeans, and slip-on heels were not intended for perching atop picnic tables.

But then again, it was nearly dark, which meant in Seattle on the Solstice it was around 10 PM. Maybe even 10:30. So perhaps my flipflops and cotton dress was the out-of-place outfit.

Anyway. I turned to the left to catch something Mr. Peruvian said.

Instead of repeating himself, I saw his face go blank, his arms come forward. He lurched toward me with his mouth slightly open. I heard a loud crash, a few girly shrieks, and some guy yell something similar to, “Oh Shit!” all at the same time. Out of the corner of my right eye I saw the hem of a navy blue satin top and the top of some very large white jeans. Brown hair and pudgy shoulders and a broad expanse of back hit me full force. I felt a slip-on shoe use my shin to stop its free-fall. But instead of finding her balance, the girl’s heel slid down my leg, her arms flailed to the sides, her beer flew out of her hands, and her big white jeans landed squarely on my midsection.

I fell backward. She fell backward. Her heel finally caught her full weight as it dug into the top of my arch. The picnic bench clattered to the floor. Her butt bounced down my body, her nails dug into my thighs in an attempt to stop her fall.  My hand landed in some guy’s full beer, splashing it all over at least four people. I looked down to see the big white jeans stutter to a stop (finally!) on the floor. Her hair was in front of me. Her shoulders were still pudgy, especially up close.

She pushed herself up, ran into the pub. Gone.

Whoever was inhabiting those large white jeans didn’t even bother to pick up the the picnic bench, now laying on its side.  I was left sitting in a chair with my hand still in some guy’s (now considerably less full) beer…looking blankly up at said “some guy,” apologizing, and asking him if I could get him a new one. All the patio inhabitants stared at me as if I’d caused the ruckus.

My foot was sporting a large instant bruise and possibly some blood. My thighs looked like they’d just been shredded by a very arduous lover. My hand was cold. I could feel beer on my new flipflop.

I never did see that girl’s face. Or the front of her outfit. She never reappeared.

But Mr. Peruvian and I decided maybe it was safer to dance on the big patio after all.

Every day another story - 

Sofie