I am jogging past when the teenagers jump onto the hood of the car. It’s not a good decision but who am I to tell them. And I am worried about this heart of mine. The doctor said my blood pressure is way too high. Exercise he said, and my diet… something about a sea-change. Running now, I wonder if my heart might just give up. Here on the street, in front of these teenagers, riding on the hood of the car.

I hear the bump.

The car wasn’t going very fast, only 5 miles an hour. They must have bumped the curb… or a trash can. Yes. I am sure it was a trash can. They are behind me now and I don’t want to look back. I am sure they are fine.

I look to my left and see a man hopping on one foot. His other leg is missing. I am sure that it has always been that way. The missing leg that is. And not always missing, but missing prior to this. Prior to the bump.

I continue running. They weren’t going that fast.

I get a telegram. I am running, straining to read the telegram. Worried about my heart.
He is dead. Stop. Hit by car. Stop. Lost leg. Stop. Couldnt stop bleeding. Stop.

I Stop.

“He”, is a friend of mine. Or was, I suppose. He is dead now. The fact that I did not recognize him, hurt and hopping - hurts. Makes me feel as if I never knew him at all. I am awake now feeling loss - his death a fact. I am feeling the regret that comes with the death of a friend. That sense of never having spent the time you were given properly.

I awake now (turns out I wasn’t awake the first time) and realize that my dead friend is, in fact, not dead. I get out of bed knowing that I will call him today. Knowing he will not understand the smile on my face.