There was a frantic competition going on between the flash of cameras, the blinking lights of the ambulance, and the police cars; and the firetruck. It was a competition to see who could best illuminate the darkened city street, who could reveal the empty, stopped bus, who could help show the messenger’s deformed bicycle, and who could make known the messenger’s body lying beneath the black tarp. If the cameras belonged to tourists they were ‘point and shoot’ taken from the bag attached to their child’s stroller, for the city dweller it was a cellphone camera, and for the news-people it was a no-joking-around piece of photographic equipment, but whatever it was, they all struggled to take in the story, to show the body (as much as they could) and portray the sequence of events (which most had missed) accurately.
The police stood in a circle, hands in pockets, blowing visible breaths into the cold night. There wasn’t much they could do except corner the ’scene’ off, which they did, and keep the spectators from getting too close. For police it’s not having a suspect to look for that makes the job so damn hard. The only suspect, if he could even be called that, was an old bus-driver who sat in the curb, his forever-changed face being his only punishment.
And I, walking by the enraptured crowd, was unable to share their enjoyment. I whispered to myself, whispered, but still saying out-loud “I hope they’re alright”. I didn’t say it reflexively, it wasn’t the first thing that came to my mind, the first thing that came to my mind was to stare and take photos (truth be told). But I said it anyway because I knew, we all know, what’s the right thing to do; even though it’s rarely the first thing that comes to mind (especially for young men). I hoped a dead body was ‘alright’, a pointless prayer really. But sometimes we have to fake goodness in the hope that goodness will come.
Then I kept walking.
Have you considered Subscribing to all of this madness?
