An Ambulance at The Gas Station
Two seemingly competing details can coexist simultaneously.
I stared at the numbers steadily rising on the meter as I pumped gas. Such a loose expression, pumping gas. The grip of the nozle did all of the work while I glazed over and roamed Planet Nothing in a dark corner of my mind. Somewhere between $20 and $40 on the digital read-out, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. An ambulance. No siren. Lights on. Driving circles through the gas station parking lot.
I glanced around and saw, about 60-yards away, a clearly agitated man hailing the ambulance as though it were a taxi.
As the man stepped toward the slowing emergency vehicle, my eyes landed on a motionless figure lying on the ground between two sedans.
The image came into gradual clarity. A pink jacket. A body face-down on the rain-wet pavement. My heart sank and I turned away. Noticing the situation was unhelpful and left me feeling impotent. I wondered whether my awareness of another’s tragic moment wasn’t somehow harmful? Some voyeuristic salt in a newly gaping wound.
I felt small. There was nothing to be done. Emergency responders were on site. Even my most noble inclinations would just get in the way.
