I flew off the curb toward the truck, lunged and grabbed the girl, yanking her back, stumbling against her weight, both of us crashing to the street, my back and butt bouncing on the asphalt, the air shoved out of my lungs. I pulled my feet in just in time as the truck rumbled past, its brakes smoking, horn blaring.

The girl’s back was on my chest and stomach, my arms wrapped around her waist, her head on my collarbone, her red ribbon slinking down my arm. Red for blood. At least there was no blood. I don’t like blood. Blood should always be inside of a body, not outside. I was panting, wiped out. I should exercise more and lose some weight, I know this, I do, but it’s so boring. And I hate dieting. Garfield the cat had it right: Dieting is die with a t.

But still. I could hardly breathe from this short sprint, and that was embarrassing. I would have to make a change in my life. Exercise. Eat more vegetables. That sort of dreariness. But not today. Lord, not today. My aunt Camellia was making a chocolate cheesecake for dessert tonight. I probably wouldn’t begin a diet and exercise program tomorrow, either, because there would be leftover chocolate cheesecake and I would not want it to go to waste. Maybe next Saturday I’d begin.

Maybe not.

The girl wasn’t moving, but I knew she was okay. I could feel her breathing on top of me. She was shocked, that’s all. I sucked in air like a beached whale, my heart protesting my run, first thing in the morning, too!

I heard a scream, piercing, circling around me, then the scream seemed to circle North Sound before it headed out to the ocean, alarming any and all whales and fish. It was a scream of pure terror.

It wasn’t me. I couldn’t scream. I am too out of shape. The scream was from the mother. She was crying and screaming as she hobbled over to us. She bent over her daughter, cradled in my arms, my dress no doubt hitched up way too high. “Maggie, oh, my God, Maggie. Are you all right? Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

I felt Maggie nod. “Yep. I’m good.”

So casual. “Yep.” I was near to dying from running, my legs were almost flattened by truck tires, and the kid, yep, was fine and dandy.

“Why did you do that?” her mother wailed, as if I weren’t there underneath her naughty daughter. “Why did you run in the street? You know better than that!”

The girl didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She had wanted to pet a white, furry, cute dog and now she was lying in the street. She had seen the truck tear past us. She was young, about seven, but she knew what had almost happened to her.

Maggie, dear Maggie, burst into tears. “I only wanted to pet the doggie!”

The mother was now holding her daughter close, shaking, tears streaming out of her eyes, keening over my near-dead body. Dang. I did not want to start my day like this, but whew. That was a close one.