We scream and try to steer away, but the runners do not move.
The driver slams his horn and hits his brakes, and we do what all kids do: we jump off.
In our hooded parkas, we roll like logs down the cold, wet snow, thinking the next thing to touch us will be the hard rubber of a car tire.
We are yelling “AHHHHHH” and we are tingling with fear, turning over and over, the world upside down, right side up, upside down.
And then, nothing. We stop rolling and catch our breath and wipe the dripping snow from our faces.
The driver turns down the street, wagging his finger.
We are safe. Our sled has thudded quietly into a snowbank, and our friends are slapping us now, saying “Cool” and “You could have died.”
I grin at my brother, and we are united by childish pride.
That wasn't so hard, we think, and we are ready to take on death again.
The Sixth Tuesday We Talk About Emotions
I walked past the mountain laurels and the Japanese maple, up the bluestone steps of Morrie's house.
The white rain gutter hung like a lid over the doorway.
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