Safety Vest. Jumper Cables. Garage Door Opener.
A tangle of yellow against a garage door caught my eye. Within the tangle was a man. A safety vest and jumper cables pinned him to the door. One foot with only a sock in a puddle that traced up his leg.
I checked the street and my conscience before running to him. There would always be another train.
“He’s crazy,” a woman said behind me. “We’ve called an ambulance and he doesn’t want it.”
“Fucking right, I don’t want it!” He yelled.
“Don’t worry about the ambulance,” I said. “Let’s focus on you. What’s going on? Are you ok?”
“I told those bitches I don’t want a fucking ambulance,” he said and then yelled at the women behind me, “No ambulance!”
“I got that. Totally clear. We don’t have to worry about that. I just want to make sure you’re ok.”
He dropped the cables and grabbed me with the vice grip of a drowning man. I could not escape his smell or germs. “I’m not ok. My sister died last week. I’m bipolar and suicidal.”
“That sucks,” I said. “I always feel helpless when someone dies. I thought you were having a stroke when I saw you. I thought you were dying. Any physical pain we need to worry about?” The sound of approaching sirens changed the subject.
“What the fuck?” He raised his hands to the onlookers. “I told you no ambulance!” He focused his attention back on me. “Listen man, can you do me a favor?”
“Tell me,” I said.
“I need you to stick around for seven and a half minutes. Shit’s going to go down. You’re the first person to listen to me for a long time. I feel hopeful.” His words were moist with his homemade antiseptic concoction of drugs and alcohol, I could see them coiling around me. A snake hypnotizing me.
A police officer pulled me away and told me to move on.
The two women told me they were sorry. I told them they did the right thing. The police officer motioned with her head for me to get moving.
I dawdled towards the train station, shaken and empty, looking over my shoulder wondering if leaving was the right thing.
I wondered for weeks. Listeners just shook their heads.
And then last week, I saw him. It took me a moment to recognize him. He looked bright and clean — it’s amazing the change a comb and shower can make — and somewhat drunk. We made small talk about current events. It was clear he didn’t remember me.
