A Maybe Shared Moment

I am in my habitual hurry, walking the dog before dance class. When we are passing the bus station, a man crashes to the ground. It is 8.45, too early to be drunk. He starts fitting. I fly to him; it is the first time I’ve used my first aid training, which has just expired. He is smacking his head into the concrete, already bleeding. I pull off my hoodie and stick it under his head. Someone calls an ambulance. A man who works there is talking to the 999 person, reporting what is happening. I crouch by the ill man. Others from the bus queue stand around, one of them holds my dog’s lead, another bends forward and pulls my vest top down, presumably over exposed skin. It is cold, she silently says; I hadn’t noticed, I silently reply.

He stares at me but I am not sure if he can see him. His irises are yellow. I keep talking to him, saying ‘It’s going to be okay, it’s all right mate; the ambulance is on its way.’ Then I see his hands which are beating into the ground, bloodied and already bruising. I demand a jumper from the bus queue and someone obediently obliges. While I am positioning this he grasps my wrist. I am scared, I know he could break it. His grip is a too tight bracelet. I continue to chatter, looking into his yellow eyes. I don’t know if he can hear me but I am intensely connected to this stranger.

Finally, after hours or moments or days we hear the siren. Finally, the fit begins to subside. He lets go of my hand, his eyes close and he starts to snore. The ambulance drivers walk over and I retrieve my dog and leave. A few minutes later I realise I’ve left my hoodie, a few minutes after that I burst into tears. 

 

I’m late for my class and I dance in a daze.