At 19 I had 2 different experiences involving ½ gallons of liquid; each was unusual and potentially dangerous, although they ended in my favor.

The first experience was after working at a summer camp as a counselor. A friend I’d made, another counselor my age, offered to drive me home after the camp. It was a 2 hour drive and on our way her car broke down in a billow of smoke. We limped to the side of the highway. It was a sweaty hot summer day in Pennsylvania. We knew nothing about cars, and stood on the side of the road not sure what to do.

In no time, a young couple traveling across the state pulled over to help us. The guy looked under the hood and said he thought it was a blown head gasket. Not to be fixed by the side of the road. They offered to take us to the nearest gas station. This was back when every gas station also did repairs. My friend and I squeezed into the front seat of their pickup truck.  On our way to the station they offered us sandwiches and homemade iced tea. The tea was particularly delicious, black tea with lots of sugar and lemon. Like my mothers. I remember noting they had several half gallons of the tea leaning up against the back of the cab. I asked about them and the young woman replied they had made extra in case they came across people who needed help.

They dropped us at a gas station, gave us one of the half gallons and moved on. I was awe struck by their thoughtfulness, and the concept of preparing to be kind to strangers.

There is more to this story although keeping to the ½ gallon theme, I’ll move on to the next experience.

Several months later, on the other side of the country …

I found myself living in Seattle. My sister and I rented a little house just up the street from where I live now, although it was a lifetime ago.

I was going to a community college that had an exchange program; I immediately got a Swedish boyfriend, Matts. Matts and I decided to go up on the roof of the single story house to watch the sunset. We ascended up a lattice at the front of the house. To make the experience festive, we brought a ½ gallon of rum with us. Growing up in NY, the drinking age was 18 at the time and so I was accustomed to dipping in now and then.

As we all know NW sunsets can be stunning, and this one was just that. We also know drinking straight from the bottle at great heights is not a good idea. As we descended the roof, I held onto the gutter and stepped onto the lattice. As I was falling backward in that way that tends to expand time, I noticed how the world in my periphery vision was moving in slow motion. Of course that ended with a thud, and I found myself lying on the front lawn with the gutter in one hand and the ½ gallon in the other.

Then the people around me started making a fuss, hovering and such. I was fine. However when I stood up my foot wasn’t behaving the way it normally did. It wasn’t exactly dangling, but I didn’t have normal control. My sister dragged me into the house and made me sit as she put ice on it. It swelled to the size of a small melon, but I felt no pain; so no problem… Because I was persistent, we went on to a local bar and played pool. I drug my foot around the entire evening, musing at my dysfunction and its novelty.

As enjoyable times like these tend to pass, I woke to an unforgettable morning involving pain, puking, and a trip to the ER. Fortunately it was just a sprain; the novelty of the crutches lasted less than a day. My ankle stayed swollen for months and has never been the same.

I am very fortunate.
…
I have another story about rum and heights. Although instead of being on a roof it was a mountain top; and instead of getting down with a lattice, it was skis. Yet again lucky to be alive…