**TRIGGER WARNING** — talk of suicide.
I was on my way to work. It wasn’t a job I particularly enjoyed. Working for and among narcissists has never been my idea of fun. It was a job. Something to help pay the bills while I worked on my dreams on the side. Nevertheless, I felt grateful to have a job in a country where a third of the population is unemployed. I don’t know how people do it. Well, I do because I’ve been there. More times than I wish to admit.
I’m driving on the highway. My usual route to work. The traffic is lighter than usual this morning. I’m going to be early for work. I’m always early. I’m that person.
It’s smack in the middle of winter. It’s not too cold this morning though. A little mist in the air.
Suddenly there’s a frantic weaving of cars in front of me as I approach the bridge right up ahead. What the hell is going on? It all happens so fast. One car-length in front of me. Something fell onto the road. I swerve and just miss it. Wait, that’s not something. That’s someONE!
I check my side-view and rearview mirror. It’s absolute chaos all around me. I pull over to the side of the road. I don’t think. I just act. I jump out of my car and start running back. No one else has stopped. WHY IS NO ONE ELSE STOPPING?
I’m standing right across from him. Another car has stopped behind me. I need to get to him. Dodge the cars and just get over there! I can see his chest moving. He’s lying face down. HE’S BREATHING!
I make a run for it. A man jumps out of the car that stopped behind me. He’s taken out a traffic cone. Quick thinking! He has a towel. It’s navy. I need that towel. There’s a lot of blood. All four of his canine teeth are lying next to him. Please give me the towel!
Another car has stopped. Finally! A husband and wife are on their way to work. He’s on the phone with emergency services. I look back again, they’ve gone. “Hey, traffic cone guy, help me turn him over.”
So much blood. So much damage. So much pain. “Can you people not see his pain?” I think to myself as I look at the cars piling up and people rolling down their windows to get a better shot on their phones. They can’t.
He’s not going to make it. Oh, here’s a doctor. Finally. She takes out a pink pediatric stethoscope. She listens. She checks his pupils. She leaves. No words. My eyes follow her as she walks away. I want to shout: “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
So much blood. So much pain. I’ve been there. More times than I care to admit.
I turn him on his side and try to keep him awake. I know it’s futile. So I just hold him. I tell him that it’s okay. It‘ll be okay. It’ll all be over soon. No more pain.
He stops breathing.
And then he died in my arms.
I don’t even know his name.
