Bus Stop

At first, he seemed to be choking.

I glanced over from where I was leaning against the edge of the bus shelter when the first wheezing gasp whistled from his throat, but figured it was just Old People Noises.

Janine, who I had a crush on, had just posted some hilarious meme, and I was about to respond when his left leg kicked out straight at an impossible angle, forcing me to look up and see his face clearly.

It was purple. The white bristles of his eyebrows were in sharp relief against the darkening skin.

I called emergency services, pocketed my phone, and hustled to his side.

I wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't choking, the air was going in and out of him. I had no idea what was wrong. Heart attack? Stroke? I managed to get him laying down on the bench so as to elevate his legs. At least, that was what I seemed to remember was the right thing to do.

Everything had been normal, and now within a few seconds I and this stranger were in one of the most intimate relationships two people can have. He was seemingly dying, and I was the only human in sight.

He couldn't speak. His brown eyes bulged under his wrinkling forehead, over the blue disposible mask askew on his face. His gnarled old fingers with their freckles clutched at my good wool coat.

He seemed to be trying to communicate something.

I sat down onto the bench beside his head, half-supporting him there, and said in the calmest voice I could manage, "The ambulance is coming, please hang on." His grip on my coat tightened and the sarcastic voice in the back of my head said to me, "He IS hanging on."

I could hear the siren. They were a long ways off yet.

The bus pulled up, opened its door. The driver stared in shock, frozen.

I called, "I've called an ambulance. When's the next bus?"

"An hour."

"Ok, thanks, great. Thanks." I was going to miss my interview. I'd have to call in.

The ambulance came into sight as the bus rolled away, sirens howling.

He squirmed some more, wheezing, half on the bench and half off. I had my arms on him, struggling to keep him up, to keep him off of the cold slushy ground, partly to be kind, partly to avoid going down with him.

During this short wrestling match, something slapped down onto the pavement below.

The ambulance guys got out with their trained rapid efficient movements, yanked the gurney out, put an oxygen mask on him, asked me if I were related.

When I said no, the guy asking questions took a deep breath and paused for a few seconds.

He looked at me with the mildly annoyed expression of somebody thinking "I don't want to deal with this right now."

Then asked, "You don't know him?"

"No."

Sigh of a martyred saint, then, "Have you seen his wallet?"

"I don't generally look at a strangers'..." I remembered the slapping noise, earlier, and started to lean over to see what was there.

But now the driver had already gone through his breast pocket and found the wallet, and they had him on the gurney and were loading him in.

I peeked under the bench. There was a little black notebook laying there, half in the muddy slush. I picked it up, flipped it open to see if it was some kind of wallet-related thing, but it was just a little looseleaf book full of tiny writing in cerulean blue ink. I said, "WAIT!" to the ambulance guy, already back in the driver's seat, but he waved me off and pulled into traffic, so I stuck it in my coat pocket.

As they roared away I got out my phone and called the interviewer, explained the situation. The Terribly Nice lady on the other end of the line took a few seconds before she said, "Thanks so much for calling, but the position has been filled."

I resisted the urge to hurl my cell across the road, and instead turned to trudge back to the apartment. Job search starting over at zero. Again. Yay.

I got home and wiped the road salt off of my good shoes, put my good coat on its hanger in the closet, and made some coffee. Stressed out and annoyed, I completely forgot about the book.

A couple of weeks later a friend of a friend hired me. I didn't even have to interview. So my good coat and good shoes stayed in the closet for a while.

It was the day of my new work-friend Yusef's aunt's wake, in the early spring, that I next put on the good coat.

I was hurrying out the door to make it to the funeral parlor on time when I reached into my pocket and felt it there. I knew instantly what it was. I felt a little bit guilty that I had forgotten it, but I simultaneously started thinking about where I could chuck it out. It was annoying, there in my pocket. A goad, a bit of guilty conscience for a forgotten chore.

At the crowded wake, I expressed condolences, chatted with Yusef and his parents for a little while, and turned to go.

An excited voice came from a knot of people off to my right, "That's HIM! That's THE GUY!!"

The knot parted, and there stood an old man, pointing with his knuckle in old school courtesy rather than rudely extending a finger. A young woman standing next to him said, "Oh, Papa, it couldn't be. What are the odds?"

Yusef, coming up behind me, set his hand on my shoulder, "Uncle Vadick, what are you accusing my friend of now?"

Vadick came closer, peering up at me. "It IS you, isn't it? This coat, this is the coat I remember. It was YOU."

I was so startled at seeing him, alive, well, and not even purple. It was a shock of relief, and the tears sprang into my eyes. It was all too much. I pulled the black book out of my pocket and pressed it into his hands. "I am SO SORRY I didn't come find you. Please forgive me."

His eyes grew round. He too began to weep. "You saved my life. You saved me. I would have died."

The entire room exploded in excitement. Yusef was hugging me tight and his parents joined in, Vadick's daughter was smooching me on the cheek, Vadick himself was holding my right hand with his and clutching my arm with his left hand, and the crowd of mourners joined in, slapping us both on the back, laughing and congratulating me. The celebratory mood was completely unsuitable for the somber occasion of Vadick & Yusef's mom's sister's funeral, but nobody minded at all.

Later, we all went to dinner at a little restaurant in the neighborhood. Vadick pulled me aside.

"I'm a writer. This notebook contains my manuscript Without you, I would have lost years of work. I was going to try to start over, from nothing. I cannot thank you enough. First you save my life, and now this. You are truly my hero."

I blushed a bit. "I just was trying to help." I stammered. "Anybody would..."

He cut me off right there, holding up one finger. "Anybody didn't!" he said, "YOU did! And for this, I'm going to name you on my publishing contract. Who knows? Maybe it will bring us even more luck."

A year later, his book came out, and became an instant worldwide best seller, a huge success that made him a multimillionaire and me, well, very comfortable.

Ten years later, and I am still receiving a nice fat check every so often.

I still work with Yusef, and am invited to all of their family's gatherings.

Oh, and I married Janine, who it turns out also had a crush on me.