Yard Sale

I used to walk my dog I named after my late husband Walter up Magnolia, around the cul-de-sac, and back two times a day, and that totaled a mile. As arthritis wreaked havoc on my body and the dog got older, we were both slower. When the Smiths in the cul-de-sac had a yard sale Saturday morning, there was already a traffic jam on our normally quiet street before the sun had risen, and minivans, SUVs, and pick-up trucks drove through, their occupants craning their necks to see if there were treasures displayed before they stopped and blocked neighbors’ driveways or mailboxes. I’m sure our mailman would want to go postal if they were still here when he made his deliveries.

I didn’t see my neighbor backing out because of the vehicles along the curb and couldn’t sprint because I hadn’t sprinted in thirty years. His back tire ran over my foot, and I fell back in his daylilies, let go of the dog’s leash, and Walter dragged his leash to the other side of my neighbor’s car, lifted his leg, and marked his territory.

Alan heard me scream and stopped his RAV4, ran to me, and called 911 on his cell. “I’m so sorry, Ms.Kay. I didn’t even see you and Walter. There is so much traffic on our street for the Smith’s yard sale. Do you think you can walk?”

“I’d rather not try.”

“The ambulance should be here in a minute.”

“You think it’s broken?”

“I think it’s my foot and toes, not my ankle. I can’t move them in my shoe.”

“You want me to take your shoe off?”

“No, they’ll do it.”

“Can I at least help you sit up?”

“Yes.”

“There now. Can I get you something?”

“No, but thanks.”

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Kay.”

“Accidents happen.” Alan ran inside to get me some water, I petted Walter. “You left me you old coot, just like your namesake.” I heard the sirens getting closer and could see the ambulance turn onto Magnolia. “Alan, can you take Walter and put him in the backyard? He’ll be okay until I get home.”

“Yes, mam, and you know I have good insurance. I’ll go with you to the ER.”

“No, that’s not necessary. If you’ll call my daughter, she can meet me there.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No, but thanks for asking.”

I didn’t blame Alan. I blamed the yard sale. It seemed to set up the conditions for the accident and that’s what I’d tell my daughter. I didn’t want to move in with her. It took nearly twenty-five years to get her to move out of my house. I blamed myself for not paying closer attention, and I blamed Walter. He was supposed to help me. I knew I’d wear an orthopedic boot for a couple of months, but mostly, I just wanted to avoid a nursing home.