I was eight years old when I almost died. I was trying to pick a penny off the ground at a Chicago subway stop. I had to be eight because nobody over the age of eight cares about a penny. Hell, if I had a more laissez-faire attitude towards littering I'd probably throw every penny I get into the streets. Eight year olds everywhere would celebrate and I wouldn't have a jar full of useless pennies sitting in my apartment.

The penny was a few inches, maybe a foot, from the edge of the subway platform. Under normal circumstances, the edge of the platform is not so perilous a location, even for an eight year old. My mom had no reason to be alarmed as I stepped forward and reached down. My little sister, however, took it upon herself to transform that seemingly typical subway station into a death trap. (As a middle child with three siblings, I shouldn't have been surprised at this. Death traps are fairly common in large families.)

She saw the penny a second after I did. As she was two years younger, she was just as (if not more) excited by the prospect of a free cent. I reached down, she ran forward. I gripped the penny, she jumped onto my back. I stumbled forward and, siezed by the fear of falling forward onto the train tracks, barely managed to stop myself and maintain my balance. My sister still grasped at the coin. Perhaps she did not realize that she was threatening to kill us both, but I doubt that. Like I said, siblings are usually just as murderous as they seem.

My mom, of course, was furious. (Another thing about large families: concern manifests as fury.) She broke us up immediately and pulled us away from the platform edge. My sister and I stood quietly as the train rolled up and I let my nerves settle. Even at the age of eight, I distinctly recall feeling that sharp stab of mortal dread. "Crap! I almost died! Jeeze!"

(Hamlet I was not.)

I don't remember what happened to the penny I almost died for. I suspect we left it  lying enticingly on the platform.  Perhaps it was kicked harmlessly down onto the tracks. I like to think it succeeded in murdering some other, less canny eight year old, though. 

Mission accomplished, penny.