I saw a man hit by a bus today. More precisely: I saw a man who was hit by a bus today. I didn't see it happen, but not more than a minute or two could have passed between the time it happened and the time I passed by. Time enough for about 5 people to get out to help the man. Time enough for one to reach into his trunk and start to light flares…and put them in the road.
I could not have predicted the way this would effect me.
I stopped at the red light, in the front of the only open lane. I could see the bus, a school bus, stopped just past halfway into the intersection. I hoped there were no kids on it…there weren't. It was turning northbound onto Cave Creek, from a side street just north of Cactus - it hit a man who was crossing in the crosswalk.
I could see the man laying in front of the bus. I hoped it wasn't a child, and it wasn't. I hoped it wasn't a woman, someone's daughter, and it wasn't. The five Samaritans were gathered over him, looking the way I felt: helpless, hopeless. I could see him laying on his side, his head laying on the ground in a pool of blood as red and as bright as the stoplight which held me there. I looked up the road, I looked behind me. I was looking for an ambulance…an EMT truck…a police car…anyone. There was none…I wished there was.
I considered stopping, to get out out and stand over him, helplessly, hopelessly. I didn't. I wished I was EMT trained…something. I'm not. I didn't stop. Two or three more Samaritans approached the scene - looking the way I felt.
The blood. That was the most vivid part. He was dead…I thought. I still don't know.
As I drove up Cave Creek I cried, sobbed really. I couldn't stop thinking about him. That he had a family, that he had friends, that he just wanted to cross Cave Creek (in a crosswalk). I thought about the bus driver and my heart broke for him. He also just wanted to cross Cave Creek. I wanted desperately for the man to be okay. I prayed.
I don't know why I cared so much about him - seeing him like that I guess. I called my wife - just to hear her voice, and I was glad I did. I realized that people sometimes get hit by busses.
I spend a lot of time thinking about things like baseball and my family and politics and Theology and the air pressure in my tires and how much Coke is in the fridge and where do I belong in the Church and in the world and I forget. I prayed some more.
