I hit the ground hard and felt one of my teeth stab into my lower lip.
At first I struggled hard for the breath that had been knocked out of my stomach. Gasps screamed out of my mouth but were having no intake into my lungs. Each second feels like an hour when you are failing to breathe and slowly drowning in a mouthful of your own blood.
I coughed finally and the air resumed to flow. Dust on the concrete floor sucked up through my nose and into my mouth. The taste was like nothing I’d tasted before.
Grinding my teeth hard as I tried not to yell out, I could feel sand and dust shredding my gums. Dirt was mixing in with my bloodied lips. This was going to be hell on my teeth, I knew.
I tried to breathe more and lift my head to little avail. My forehead was scraped and when I lifted it off the floor and exposed it to oxygen I could feel the deep abrasion begin to burn. Soon what little energy I had mustered up to move was lost and my head fell back down onto the floor hard. Finally I let myself begin to cry.
I hadn’t cried at all up to that point.

My tongue rushed around my mouth and still I couldn’t spit out all the blood and dust. Have you ever licked concrete? It tasted a lot like one would expect. Like stones. It tasted hot even though it was probably freezing cold.
I was freezing cold.
God it was terrible.

I still felt the rush of air. The moment when the ground leaves your feet and your body is suspended in air before you hit face down. Its not easy to keep your eyes open as you fall—for that split second you’ll watch the floor even if your arms aren’t fast enough to brace. I felt suspended.
Then the pain isn’t even sudden, not even as my tooth tore through my fleshy mouth.

I was somewhere else any way.
I remembered the time we were driving that old Camero up to Goleta. It was the dead of night, and I kept talking to you for fear that you were going to fall asleep at the wheel and send us careening off the cliffs to the beach below. Both our windows were down and my hands, as usual, were freezing. So I reached for your right arm, which was resting on your knee, and took it into mine.
I was bullshiting about the evening’s accounts at the restaurant. Your hand was strangely warm—it always was. No matter what the weather.
Once we got to the streetlights I took my hand from yours and saw in the speeding flickers of light that there were dark blotches smeared across my palm. I flicked my cigarette out the window and inspected my hand closer. Indeed, it was blood.
I looked over to your hand on the steering wheel and saw that the black leather of the wheel was glistening in the light.
“You’re bleeding,” I said softly.
You didn’t know what I was talking about. You didn’t believe me at first, I think.
You know, we never found out how you cut your hand that night.

A dark warm pool was forming below my nose. Maybe it was broken. It was bleeding either way. I twisted my shoulders enough to try and roll over onto my back and slowly rocked into place. Back and forth on each shoulder, the concrete was killing me. Finally, to my left, I was able to roll and settle with my face in the air. My hair was laying in the pool and I could feel the blood creep up into my scalp. It was disgusting. I was disgusting. But at least I was on my back.

I thought to myself how I had hoped that you remembered to bring the olive oil over. I was supposed to make bruschetta. I hoped you hadn’t already arrived and then left, seeing I was not home. I hoped that you had the olive oil at home, and you didn’t have to buy a whole new one. Its pretty expensive these days.

Maybe you were still in the grocery store…
(Maybe I was at the grocery store?)
Maybe you decided not to come over after all…
(I don’t remember where I was…)
Were you working late, honey?
(…when I hit the ground)
I am ready to take this to the next level.
(its all really fuzzy—and the blood beneath my head is starting to cool. I think there is someone standing close by. Breathing? Perhaps I’m hearing things… I think I’m going to pass out now.)
I love you.
I love you with all of my heart.