Mixing
His breathing sounded terrible, shuttering and getting caught in his throat, a film of spittle on his chin and lips, I guessed from the force of breath coming out of his mouth. A pair of glasses and a water bottle were on the ground a couple feet away like they’d been set there by someone. “Should we move him on his side?” I asked the old man standing across from me.
“I have no idea what to do,” he said. I couldn’t help but feel he said it to avoid putting himself into any kind of responsibility about it. He said it again: “I don’t know what to do.”
I knelt and lifted the unconscious man to his side by his hip and shoulder, being careful not to twist his spine in any way. His head shifted and came to the cement, but he was on his side.
As I stood there feeling my hands wondering if he was sick as I watched his labored breathing, it seemed I didn’t really know what to do either. I felt bad about his head being like that, but I thought it was better than him choking on whatever seemed to be in his throat. We both stood there the old man and I looking down at him.
“He’s been drinking again,” said the old man. I gathered the man on the ground was a figure from the neighborhood.
A coagulated mess of blood and spit came from the unconscious man’s mouth. There was someone in the street talking to emergency and I called to him and told him of the blood.
When I looked back the old man had gone, and then a woman came up behind me. She asked what had happened and I said I was driving by and saw him laying here like this.
She knelt and sat on the ground and lifted the man’s head and rested his head on her knee. She pressed her hand to his forehead and then his temple. I was a little amazed because I did not want to touch him more than I already had and I was very conscious now of not putting my hands on my face.
A policeman came up and the man began to stir. My car was parked and running in the street blocking traffic. Cars were backed up behind it. I didn’t know what to do. It seemed there was nothing more for me to do.
I asked the officer, who I knew distantly, if I could leave. He asked a couple questions and said to go ahead. But as I turned the man began to sit up and struggle a bit so I stopped and thought how I could reassure him that it was okay, that it was better to be still and lay back down. The officer and woman spoke to him, to calm him, and he began to relax a bit.
The officer put a gloved finger in the man’s mouth and asked him if he knew why he was bleeding and if he was missing any teeth. The man shook his head and said he didn’t know.
I started to back away and again he began to struggle and sit up. The woman and the officer pleaded with him to lay back down. I thought that he was confused about the circumstances and felt fear when he saw someone leaving. He did not look scared but his hands were shaking and he was sweating quite a lot. I stopped and decided I would wait. And every time he looked at me I smiled gently, in a way I hoped was reassuring.
There were sirens. He continued to lay there with his head on the woman’s knee. Finally a fire truck was coming down the road. Without turning back I went across the street and pointed for the firemen where they were needed and got in my car and left. I did not have a chance to look to see the man again when I drove by because of the traffic.
When I got home, I paced around the apartment and petted the cat and sat on the bed and finally picked up my phone knowing I was using it to escape what I’d just brought home. I began scrolling and eventually it subsided and I felt a little guilty for not sitting with myself through it. Then I wondered if what I’d avoided just then would come up again somewhere else.
The incident did not cross my mind again that day or for several days after, and a couple weeks later it occurred to me that I might write something about it. I wonder often how many conflicts in my life have been made worse by escaping myself when I most needed my help, when I most needed to sit with myself and just be there to let difficult things pass when they will.
