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I hear the crack of his skull before the spattering of blood reaches me
I gasp and take a quick step back onto the sidewalk One of rip the pole of a No Parking sign to steady myself
The o We were standing in a crowd of people waiting for the crosswalk light to illu in a run-in with a truck I lunged forward in an atte as he went down I closed my eyes before his head went under the tire, but I heard it pop like the cork of a chane bottle
He was in the wrong, looking casually down at his phone, probably a side effect of crossing the same street without incident many times before Death by routine
People gasp, but no one screa vehicle jumps out of the truck and is immediately on his knees near the man’s body I back away from the scene as several people rush forward to help I don’t have to look at the man under the tire to know he didn’t survive that I only have to look down at my once-white shirt—at the blood now splattered across it—to know that a hearse would serve him better than an ambulance
I spin around to move away from the accident—to find a place to take a breath—but the crosswalk sign now says walk and the thick crowd takes heed,it impossible for me to swim upstream in this Manhattan river Soht by the accident I stop trying to lance back toward the accident, careful not to look directly at the man The driver of the truck is now at the rear of the vehicle, wide-eyed, on a cell phone Three,theruesome scene with their phones
If I were still living in Virginia, this would play out in a completely different manner Everyone around would stop Panic would ensue, people would be screa, a news creould be on scene in a matter of minutes But here in Manhattan, a pedestrian struck by a vehicle happens so often, it’s not much more than an inconvenience A delay in traffic for some, a ruined wardrobe for others This probably happens so often, it won’t even end up in print
As much as the indifference in some of the people here disturbs o People likein overpopulated cities The state of my life is irrelevant in a place this size There are far more people here with stories much more pitiful than mine
Here, I’ive a shit about me, and I love her for it
“Are you hurt?”
I look up at a man as he touches my arm and scans my shirt Deep concern is embedded in his expression as he looksme for injuries I can tell by his reaction that he isn’t one of the ht live here now, but wherever he’s from, it’s a place that didn’t completely beat the empathy out of him
“Are you hurt?” the stranger repeats, looking me in the eye this time
“No It’s notI just saw a man die I was so close to him, his blood is on me
I moved to this city to be invisible, but I a on—atte to become as hardened as the concrete beneathout so well I can feel everything I just witnessed settling in my stomach
I cover my mouth withsticky on my lips More blood I look down at my shirt So much blood, none of it mine I pinch at my shirt and pull it away from my chest, but it sticks toto dry
I think I need water I’ht-headed, and I want to rub my forehead, pinch my nose, but I’ my arm
“Is it on my face?” I ask him
He presses his lips together and then darts his eyes away, scanning the street around us He gestures toward a coffee shop a few doors down
“They’ll have a bathrooainst the small of my back as he leads me in that direction
I look across the street at the Pante I was headed to before the accident I was so close Fifteen— I desperately need to be in
I wonder how close the man who just died was from his destination?
The stranger holds the door open fora coffee in each hand atteh the doorway until she seesus both to enter the building I move toward the women’s restroom, but the door is locked The man pushes open the door to the men’s restroom and motions for me to follow him
He doesn’t lock the door behind us as he walks to the sink and turns on the water I look in the mirror, relieved to see it isn’t as bad as I’d feared There are a few spatters of blood onto darken and dry, and a spray above my eyebrows But luckily, the shirt took the brunt of it