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In highschool, a group of us went sledding on a large hill of a dirt road at nighttime. It wasn't a high-traffic road, but you might see a couple of cars pass each hour. We figured it would be less than that anyway. It was just a country road on a snowy night, after all.

At one point, after I'd made a trip down the hill, the group - there were perhaps six of us - gathered near the center of the hill, just sitting in the snow. Everyone but me was sitting on the side of the road. Not me. Not retarded me. I was laying on my back in the center of the road looking up at the night sky. What did I care? At that hour, you'd see the headlights from far off: plenty of time to move.

My friend Nick started scolding me for laying there. I wasn't listening. After a while, he crawled out into the road and grabbed a hold of my coat and started pulling. He wasn't dragging me, but it was jarring enough that I didn't care to fight over it, and I followed him back to the side of the road with the others.

It wasn't half-a-second that I'd been out of the center of the road when a car came careening over the top of the hill. I could have touched it as it went by.

Had my buddy not cared enough to crawl out there and start physically pulling me, I'd have been ran over, without question. Before that, we hadn't seen a single car that night; it was totally quiet on the walk home as well.

This comment brings back memories. Example: Dad had a ceiling block hoist mounted on a rotted beam 15 feet overhead. It was an older model, so heavier than the modern ones. Shit broke while I was lifting out some motor or other and landed like 2 inches from me (at 8 years old). We just kinda looked at each other for a bit, then moved on to something else. I don't think either of us learned anything from it.

Have you posted on this before? It rings a bell.