Sunday morning. Coffee and the New York times. Reading a story in the Style section about how hard it is to break up with someone in the age of social media because you keep seeing the details of their lives on Facebook.
The dog barks. There is a panicked, scrambling noise immediately overhead in the mahogany tree.
I look up to get an unobstructed, full-on pectoral view of a three-and-a-half foot iguana directly above me. At first it is fifteen feet away, the thirteen, then nine. It's feet claw at the empty air.
I leap sideways out of my chair. I think about all those peoples in movies who leap out of the way of explosions, who are sitting at sidewalk cafes and leap out of the way of cars.
I am not one of those leap-out-of-the-way in time people.
I land sideways on the deck. The iguana lands on top of me. The dog barks again but stays three feet back. There is the unforgettable feeling of iguana claws tangled in my t-shirt, and several of the more unpleasant moments of my life.*
The iguana untangles itself, sprint across the deck, dives to the bottom of the pool.
My wife comes out, wants to know why I am sprawled sideways on the deck, laughing like a freak.
*I have been hit by a semi truck while riding a bicycle. I have seen Wayne Newton perform live. I know from unpleasant.