A 911 Call

"hello, new york emergency services, what's your emergency tonight?"

"hi! there's been an accident."

"where are you, sir?"

"101st and 2nd ave!"

"what borough?"

"...what...?"

"what borough sir?"

"oh..........................manhattan......................"

"you've been in an accident, sir?"

"no - i witnessed one......."

"what happened?"

"a baby.......A BABY CARRIAGE was hit by a car.....!!!-!"

"oh my god...............OK WE'LL HAVE SOMEONE THERE AS SOON AS WE CAN."

"thank you..........................."

that's pretty much how it went. screaming tires, a cold shattering of glass wood, and silence..................................................then the scream -

"OH MY GOD THE BABY!!"

and terror grips you. the phone was in my hand and just as suddenly the call was over, the scream of an angel siren, and i was holding the boy's hand. he wasn't a baby, he was a toddler. i looked at his eyes. he wasn't scared (and because he wasn't, neither was i). all he could say was, "baby." and then he pointed to where the ignorant offending minivan man stood, impotently staring at the overturned carriage. "baby," he said again. and i asked him if he was ok. "baby," he repeated, pointing. and i laughed. "yes," i said, "baby." and then he was whisked off by his grandmother, off my phone with her daughter, telling her to come down and take the boy to the hospital. her drunken tears made me cold. by then, the firemen, the EMTs and the police had arrived. i took a backseat, and left when we told the police what happened.

a screech of tires, a crunch, and a keening cry. even now it chills me. it rent the air open, drawing cracks in the very fabric of the space surrounding it. and the crack broke me open. even now, the right response to that situation escapes me. i did all i could, but still feel a sense of lingering doubt.

i suppose i saw in this moment a microcosm of the negatives of a hierarchy based on economic law. here was an alcoholic old hispanic woman walking her grandson back home with a friend, getting hit by a well-dressed middle-aged white male in his gold minivan. the man may have been drunk as well. i was surprised and disturbed by the man's actions. he got out of his car slowly, walked to the carriage, and said blithely, "is everything ok?" his phone was nowhere to be seen, calling for help that came anyway, despite his impotence. and here, i thought, was a perfect metaphor for the society i see everywhere in new york. a young hispanic boy, hardly walking, is knocked to the street by an ignorant white male. the boy is unhurt, can even summon up a bit of unknown satire, but it occurred to me that this may be his struggle for the rest of his life. and when i left, i heard the EMT having to convince the guardians to take him to the hospital, "just for a checkup?"

this poor boy, whom i touched for a brief moment, is utterly trapped already. so i gave a homeless man five dollars and walked home in the sleet, to maybe make up for such a trembling injustice. there has to be a better way to help, a better way to make it better. how do i look that boy in the eye in twenty-five years, knowing i left him with people who may not know what's best? how do i look myself in the eye?