Attacked by Frying Pans (Following Death)

27 10 2008

This is a follow-up Post of The Grim Reaper’s Neighbor.

When it came to my attention that I didn’t know what happened to my Grim Reaper neighbor, I decided to revisit my old neighborhood. If I knew I was going to be attacked by a frying pan and nearly hit by a car, I don’t know if I would’ve bothered.

As it was, it happened. And I discovered several things in doing so.

One, my neighborhood is no longer my neighborhood. The cars were all wrong, the house colors too, and front yards didn’t have the right toys left out.

Two, all my old neighbors figured I was a criminal recently released from jail, going to jail, or (in the recluse with too many cats opinion) an escaped convict. I hadn’t realized I was such a charming child.

Three, old habits die really, really hard! And one of those is apparently getting into trouble and having near-death experiences.

Having left my old neighborhood nearly 10 years ago, I knew returning that the place wouldn’t be the same. In fact, I even wagered I would feel very much the stranger. I just didn’t realize the how much everyone else would view me as a stranger and distrust me for it.

So, when I came upon a crying little girl (who’d taken a spill from her bike) I didn’t realize the trouble I was walking into. Now, I didn’t act foolishly – in fact, I went against my natural Daycare-born instinct. I didn’t pick her up, I didn’t even touch her beyond helping her to her feet and holding her hand (and even then I kept a fairly loose hold and comfortable distance).

Unfortunately, by time I had gotten the girl down street toward her house her Mom had seen me. Maybe I look like a criminal (I mean, all my neighbors seem to think I am) or maybe I’m just naturally a suspicious looking person (though I work at a Daycare, so I can’t really vouch for that) but whatever the reason, the Mom panicked.

She grabbed the frying pan (apparently the closest thing at the moment) and went about a plan of attack – from behind. Clever mother, I must say. She didn’t run out the front door, screaming with the frying pan held high. No, she went out the back door, through a neighbor’s backyard, and came up behind us.

Then she yelled and threatened the frying pan. This scared the little girl who started crying all over again. Unaware it was her yelling that scared her daughter, the Mom continued yelling at me to let her girl go (who had clamped onto my hand) before taking a swing.

Luckily, I’ve read Harry Potter and knew to duck. Luckily, I’ve worked with little kids for 3 years now and knew how to get the girl’s hand off mine. Unfortunately, the girl wailed even louder and fell down, which drove her Mother to swing again.

That attack missed too but the rebound of it caught my left hand (which was frantically waving innocence by now) and knocked it pretty damn good. Swearing, I quickly stepped away as she clearly wound up again and tripped over the curb. The concrete painfully broke my fall and it felt like damaged wrist snapped.

Because the whole world was screaming around me – the Mom, the girl, and the pain of my left hand and now my bottom – I didn’t realize my most obvious danger until the screaming brakes were so close it was all I could hear.

Oh good lord! I’m going to die because of madwoman with a frying pan and a car! It was so pathetic!

I cringed, because that ‘deer-in-the-headlights’ paralysis was all too real (and no longer funny), and waited. The tap of metal to my cheek nearly made me pass out.

I’m alive–I’m friggin’ alive! Alive!  The car had manage to stop, a bloody miracle, and the Mom had stopped yelling. In fact, I think her eyes were wider than mine. And I was quick to notice she’d dropped the frying pan so to hold her hands to her mouth. 

She started to babble when the driver got out, so I just laid down and collected my thoughts. I’d just about died, or at least gravely injured. I hadn’t done that in years, not since I was 12 and I was thrown into a metal bench.  Bloody hell.

It wasn’t until I focused on the man standing over me that I realized the sheer irony that was now my life. It was my old neighbor, the Grim Reaper. And thus I became officially creeped. I don’t see him for 10 years and when I do, he’s nearly killing me with his car – that I wouldn’t have been in front of had I not been attacked by a frying pan! Ooh, the irony.

And he remembers me. Not as a criminal, however. After a brief talk with the Mom, with my participation this time, and my promise that I wasn’t going to press charges – strangers with your kids is always horrifying – I finally talked to the Grim Reaper.

I thanked him, for everything. When I was eight, all the little times in-between, and just now. My Grandma always said to thank the Grim Reaper if he should ever spare/save your life – it was only proper, seeing how it went against his nature.

Unfortunately, he was in a hurry and stayed long enough to ensure I was OK, dismiss my thanks, and mourn over the fact that I hadn’t escaped my tendencies to get into trouble. Once he was gone, I felt dizzy. I didn’t even know his real name still! Good lord, this man was creepy but awesome.

I, however, plan to leave it at that – I thanked Death and I’m satisfied. I refuse to return to that neighborhood in case I really die this time.




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