Day of Wrest

Yesterday (Sunday) at 7:30 am I was parked in my usual place, when I can't go inside to buy coffee: the picnic table adjacent to Mill Creek Park.  Facing east toward Broadway, I had been devouring my Beatles biography for the last two days and I had ploughed through about another 50 pages or so until about 10:00 am.  The sun was bright and hot but the air was finally dry.  Under the shadows of the maples it appeared that I would be able to settle into a long read.  With no money and no laptop I thank my Maker for the ability to escape into books.

Suddenly, there was the sharp screech of brakes and I looked up to see a large Tacoma pickup hit what looked like bicyclist, because of some thing metal that seemed to gleam as it overturned.  I immediately shut the book and ran the 50 yards or so to see if I could help.  As I got closer a young woman in her twenties climbed out of the truck (which looked huge compared with her).  She put her hands up to her mouth and immediately ran back to the cab to grab her cell phone.  By the time I reached the road, several drivers had stopped to help.  One directed traffic and a middle age woman knelt down beside what I realized then was a little elderly lady with a pink coat and white sneakers who's cane was lying beside her.  It was VERY obvious that she had broken her ankle, because of its terrible angle.

The young driver was red as a apple and sobbing while she spoke on the phone.  It seemed like hours for the ambulance to come.  But it was actually only about five minutes; being right down the road anyway.  I stood out of the way on the sidewalk, ready to assist if I was needed, but the people around were doing a good job.  People change in an emergency.  They all - every one of them (besides the rubber-neckers driving slowly by) - was heroic and though strangers seemed to work together as a team.

The hit was not especially hard.  The elderly lady was not thrust backward, she simply fell where she was crossing.  The truck had not been moving very fast when it hit her, leading me to believe that the young woman behind the wheel had seen the lady but perhaps misjudged - in the bright sunlight - just how slow the she was moving.  There are retirement homes and elderly house apartments peppering that area.  Most of theses older folks use the crosswalk, but not this lady.  And Broadway is a very busy road with few drivers taking the time to slow down when pedestrians try to cross.  I know.  I've walked it a thousand times.  That is the direct walk to the South Portland Library.

When the police arrived they immediately set up a perimeter around the scene, with four of their cars.  A fire ambulance and another Medivac vehicle arrived.  The latter is the one the lady was moved into and taken away in.  One of the officers asked if I had witnessed the accident.  And since I did I was asked to fill out a statement.  This was an unusually short report (even with my annoying tendency to overwrite).  There just was not too much to the situation--cut and dried.

I handed the report to the officer and was standing right next to the very distraught driver; a pretty woman dressed for maybe for grocery shopping or to park and walk the trails around town, but with tear-stained eyes and shaking slightly.  I asked the officer if we were all set and he kindly thanked me.  But I was compelled to something in this poor young woman, who looked like all she wanted to do was shrink away to nothing.  One cannot image how badly she felt.  To her credit though most of the people realized that it was probably not her fault, since the elderly lady was taking a big risk crossing where she did.

Looking at the pitiful sight of this sad soul, my heart was touched and I was suddenly filled with an overwhelming feeling of optimism for her.  This event would change her life for the better somehow.  I was absolutely positive of it.  Something about what happened on this very day would lead her to follow a different path than one she had planned on.  And many people would secondarily benefit from it.  She would be depressed for awhile, but it would all work out all right. 

Without even thinking of protocol or the three police officers around us; actually without even thinking of anything at all, I walked over to her and put my hand on her shoulder very lightly.  She looked into my eyes with the pain of a wounded animal.  And I just said, "This hard time will eventually pass and you will be quite alright."  The words just came out!  It wasn't me.  I'm usually to shy for that kind of forwardness.  And the situation seemed inappropriate for me to be speaking with her.

The police all looked at me as if I'd just downloaded the Gospel of Luke.  It was weird and uncomfortable.  She did not smile.  She couldn't have then.  But I knew she heard what I said.  And I knew she would remember it. 

Upon reflection I realized that there was no better time than right at that moment to make tell her such a thing, since the unfortunate circumstances would be looped through her mind for weeks to come.

I returned to the picnic table, picked up my Beatles book, threw my back pack over my shoulder and slowly made my way to Knightville (Thomas Knight Park), where I sat down at the chess table and wept.



* * * * * * *



[Many other very strange things happened later that day that I don't have the time here at the Portland Public Library to write out...but I will eventually.]