One favorite story I used to tell (until I was pretty sure everyonehad heard it) was the time that my husband ran over my legs with a jeep. I became adept at telling the story, embellishing details each time if I had a willing and attentive audience. To this day however, we can't agree on the facts of what transpired or who was ultimately at fault. (yes I know trying to assign blame is crazy)
The incident occurred while we were dating and in college. We used to borrow an old mail jeep from David's brother and sister-in-law. It had a swervy and clunky quality which made it fun to ride with doors that slid open. It was automatic with the gearshift on the floor, and in order to shift the button at the top of the handle had to be pressed firmly to move into a gear. I didn't know how to drive then.
One afternoon David arrived in the jeep, arriving in the driveway which had a slight incline, and came to the door but he left the jeep in neutral rather than shifting it to park. I came out and jumped into the passenger side only to have the jeep begin to roll backwards before I got completely inside. David had not gotten in yet and watched for seconds as the jeep quickly picked up momentum rolling backward down the driveway. He called to me to place it in park, but I wasn't in a good position to get hold of the handle.
I was dragged down the driveway until I fell out landing butt-first on the ground with my legs splayed in front of me, but somehow also underneath the jeep so that the front wheel on the passenger side rolled over my legs. The jeep continued and then veered left backwards toward a major intersection. David shot a look first to me in shock and then the runaway jeep before he chased the jeep to catch it before it reached traffic.
I was fine because the jeep was so light, but I love to tell how David "struggled" to chose between coming to my assistance versus stopping an accident. To this day we can't agree on the details of the story and who was at fault. I say he should have had it in park in the first place, and he thinks I should have been able to shift it into park as it started to roll.
A silly story that illustrates a point. The facts of our stories become elusive as our memory falters. Our point of view is only one version of a story that will vary from each individual present at the same event. Is it important to tell our version? Is it interesting and revealing to have witnesses of the same event share their stories with each other?
*photo of David and I 1983