THE GRIM REAPER
Long Ago and Far Away
copyright 2013 Edwin P. Cutler
THE GRIM REAPER DENIED
Long ago, when I was thirteen and lived out in the country with few houses and lots forests and lots of country roads, I was young and immortal -- death was for old people who die quietly in their sleep. However when you try something daring beware, the Grim Reaper may be following close by.
Peddling home from the store with my bicycle basket full of groceries, I heard the rumble of something behind me.
Looking back I saw an empty pulp-wood truck coming at full throttle. The driver, anxious to get home after a day of wrestling logs onto his truck in the forest then off-loading them at the train yard, was recklessly bearing down on me.
Being young and foolish, I moved to the left side of the road so he could pass me on my right and began peddling at full speed racing to beat him to my driveway which was on the right. But the rumbling truck was growling and gaining rapidly, and I felt him crowding close behind me.
I was peddling as fast as I could and my legs were flying, but he won and went roaring by with dust and straw from his empty truck bed swirling like a tornado.
He had won -- so I started to cross the road to my driveway.
In the corner of my eye I saw a second truck, a monstrous, roaring behemoth, recklessly roaring trying to keep up with his buddy.
It is one thing to have a truck bearing down on you when you are cycling on the side of the road, but I was now in the middle and in his path!
Time slowed to nearly stop and in slow motion I jerked the bicycle handle bars to the left and saw the death dealing truck crowding up beside me. Each moment blazed its horror on my mind. Its front fender moved past in a dilated time frame, then the rear view mirror and then the driver's door with his black face of terrified eyes as big as saucers and an open mouth with rows of white teeth.
He was frightened as I was. On and on the terror truck tore alongside with projecting appendages of the bed and body creeping past. One by one the rusty metal braces brushed the sleeve of my windblown shirt.
As if awakening from a dream I saw it roaring away, leaving me with bits of straw and leaves in my hair, flotsam spewed into the air by his rush to get home.
He had missed and the Grim Reaper followed me up my driveway with a haunting laugh that sent chills up my spine. He had been denied -- that time.
When I grew up I guess I was still willing to take chances and one day I fell off the roof of house and landed on my feet with heavy tools dimpling the ground around me. Another time a multilevel scaffold collapsed under me - the lower scaffold collapsed first and I stood on the upper lever, like a sailor on board as ship in a storm. But then the scaffold level I was on began to collapse and I stood nonchalantly or too stupid to jump until it all finally subsided. With no farther to fall, I stepped off and walked away, brushing the dust off my overalls.
And then there was the time I leaned over a brick wall to examine it and a bricklayer turned his trowel to tap a brick and stabbed me with the sharp point an inch above my left eye. The point punched through my skin and only stopped when it hit the bone of my skull. I now have a tiny scar above two good eyes. Fortunately the Grim Reaper was denied the pleasure of giving me a prefrontal lobotomy or a blind eye.
But another bricklayer drew a western style revolver on me. Not knowing what to do, I stared him down, and he put the gun back in his western style holster and the Grim Reaper retired for the evening.
Did I tell you about the time I rear-ended a truck before I made the first monthly payment my new-used car a car I had proudly bought with Dad Cutler signing some papers because I was only twenty. No one was hurt, but I learned a few things.
Never trust a used car salesman. This one sold us the car as if my father was buying it. The insurance didn't cover me a driver and the insurer refused to pay for the repair to my car.
Dad told me when ever I found myself ready to rear-end a vehicle go to the right. The ditch is better than a rear-end collision, so I learned something from a near tragedy.
I heard of a friend of mine who on a dark and stormy night rear-ended a slow moving truck, a truck with no tail or brake lights. He was traveling at such a high speed that all they found of him was his watch. The Grim Reaper made a hit that night.
From all these stories I learned to drive with care.
But when I went sailing, I forgot the Grim Reaper and plunged out into deep seas unaware that it was dangerous. That is until our mast broke in St. Martin and again when we sank in Bermuda.
Seventy years later, at this writing, life has been fun and the Grim Reaper has still been denied. I suppose I shouldn't boast.