Driver's side

Upon exiting the driver's side door of a standard automobile, the left leg is kinesiologically compelled to load kinetic energy at hip - something like a ski jumper crouching on descent in order to engage, generate and hold until needed, the energy necessary to contradict gravity.

Before that, as the driver lifts the left leg from the floorboard while simultaneously flinging open the door, a pronounced twisting of both the upper and lower torso occurs, the upper greater, the lower, less - this entire sequence, contraction, then flexion - of the gluteal group, then the extension of the quadriceps, particularly the sartorius, presents lateral stability and movement, and the symbiotic/supporting, semi-extension of the hamstring.

Once the weight - almost the entire body weight - of the individual is shifted to the left hemisphere of the body, and the left torso, led by the shoulder, is pointed roughly 45 degrees above the horizon, motivating up and out of the automobile cavity, the left calf, ankle structure and foot come more dramatically into play.

With the left foot now on terra firma - parking lot, driveway, street, garage floor - the neuron superhighway floods with messaging throughout the body including, importantly, the inner ear, which has a conversation with the brain and fellow neurons in the bodily musculature, writ large, in a negotiation about the stability of the foundation which the entire left hemisphere of the body is considering, all of which depends on a square inch or so at the point of contact on the ball of the big toe on the left foot. That tiny point takes on the weight and balance and parabolic attitude of the still-moving bodily system, the entirety of it: from the hair follicles at the top of the cranium, to the hard, yellow calluses at the bottom of the feet, the weight of the entire human organism, all it has ever been, from zygote until that moment, every thought, every dream, every fear, every joy, sorrow - every memory - every First Day of School, first kiss, first love, first broken heart, every byte and electrode ever transmitted inside that human vault, all of it critically dependent on the symphonic physiology now resting on the square inch at the bottom of the foot.

In an instantaneous, simultaneous, balletic, Done-This-a-Million-Times swivel-turn-and lift, the left heel is thrust downward and, depending on the individual body structure - length of leg, strength of quadriceps, sensitivity of the minute ankle musculature, waistline girth and general athleticism - the left arm, particularly the triceps and posterior deltoid, becomes involved, assisting the left leg, pelvic and hip group to elevate the body, angularly, out of the car.

Once definitively outside the car, with the left-side balance confidently determined, the hips rotate counterclockwise, bringing the pelvic girdle roughly parallel to the angle of the parked car; the right foot and leg now fully sharing the load, the erstwhile driver, now standing, a ready pedestrian.

Ice sucks.

With the presence of ice, terra firma is compromised. Firm Ground is slickery deadliness.

At the not-quite-but-might-as-well-be simultaneous contact with the ground outside the automobile, the left heel, instead of stabbing and gripping solid ground, anchoring the pivot point and fulcrum for the rotation and elevation of the hip toward that 45-degree left to the Outside, up and onto the ball of the foot at the base of the left, big toe, the heel loses purchase, sliding (generally) outward and back, toward the rear tire at, interestingly, an angle roughly similar to the 45-degree, anticipated angle Up-and-Out.

The unlucky gentleman in the parking lot lays on his back and groans, his car door opened wide, calling attention to itself. His wife stands over him, leaning forward, hands on knees, her Lemon Tree Liquors jacket riding up her back, revealing an opaque flag of skin, the color of a white Crayola crayon, framed by a broad, rubberized waistband and, below that, belted jeans with cowgirl-scrolled embroidery on the back pockets.

"Arthur!" she yells. "Art, are you OK? Get the hell up! You're gettin' all dirty!"

Arthur groans more and raises his head off the ice and it bobs like an acorn above the dirty ice until resting back down, resigned, his neck muscles given out along with his resolve.

"Arthur!" she yells, louder. "Get up! Should I get someone?"

Arthur's head throbs, having verily bounced off the glazed brown ice, polished like a frozen agate by the annoyed spinning of a thousand frozen tires. Behind his closed eyes, there is a buzzing, nauseous kaleidoscope of color and motion, three-dimensional, like a world inside a crystal. The smell of warm figs.

Somewhere above, a voice repeats his name. The urge to sleep overwhelms, but there's an instinct against it and he draws his eyes open at something pulling his coat.

"You all right, Sir?" someone is saying. A young man in a green apron, a row of shopping carts beside him. "Saw you whack your head pretty good. You should go get that checked."

"What checked?" Arthur says, his voice far away, but zooming closer.

"Yer, head, Sir. You smacked it good on the ice. Might have a concussion. You feel nauseous?"

At this, Arthur bends and vomits onto the ice between his feet, spattering his boots with yellowy oatmeal foam.

"For Chrissakes Arthur, are you all right?" his wife barks, her eyes checking his, worried.

"Slipped on the ice," Arthur mumbles, wiping his mouth, taking deep gulps of frozen air, his head clearing slowly, slightly. "Must've smacked my head," he says, rubbing the goose egg that's erupted there, sliding on his knit hat, straightening it.

"We should take you in," his wife says, looking up at him, her gloved hands clasping his forearms, steadying; the kid in the green apron, shoving away over the ice with his train of carts.

"I'll be fine," Arthur says and steps forward, his body responding as if expert.

Parnell Thill is a Cloquet-based author and marketing executive. Winner of a Minnesota Newspaper Association Better Newspaper Contest "Columnist of the Year" award in 2017, his book "Killing the Devil and Other Excellent Tricks" is available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, local booksellers, the Pine Knot News office and at killingthedevil.com.