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.
