Through the Eyes of a Cambridge Cop

I walk out my front door, rushing down the street. Coffee in one hand, my lunch in the other. I'm separating my wet hair with my fingers. Trying to be awake, aware, alert. My commute is a fifteen minute walk through one of the arm pits of Manhattan. I was lucky enough to trade in a sleepy, recession-death-rattle desk job in SoHo for a fascinating, creative new career in a studio near Port Authority. No more trust-fund tweens stepping out for coffee in wardrobes that cost more than their Vespas. I see bars with morning patrons that probably sleep on the sidewalk out front. There is a lot more vomit on the street in this neighborhood. The privileged party behind bathroom doors.

At my corner, I see a pregnant woman standing next to a cab and a man falling to the street, laying on his back. She waves the cab on and walks behind him as he rolls over and crawls to the curb.

[That poor woman and her drunk, ass of a husband. It's 9am and he can't even walk. The poor thing. Now she's trying to pick him up out of embarrassment. She's too far along for that. She's going to hurt herself.]

I briskly walk up to the woman and ask if she needs help. She responds in a thick Russian accent that she was just trying to help him into a cab.

ME: "He's not with you?"

HER: "No. He on the ground back there. Got up and fell. I ask if he OK. He says he dizzy and needs cab."

She says she's calling 911. I tell her I think that is a good idea.

HE ON THE GROUND: "I just need a cab."

He gestures to her and I whip my focus on him.

ME: "Sir! She is in no condition to help you. She's calling for help."

[Ass. Drinking at nine in the morning. Asking young, innocent pregnant ladies to help him into cabs.]

HE ON THE GROUND: "I'm just dizzy. I just need a cab. I live around the corner."

[Sure you do. I'll bet. Wait till the cops show up Buddy. I've seen this before...you'll stand up suddenly, act all fine and fall flat on your face. As you've apparently been doing all morning. Go ahead. Yell at everyone around you. Start talking to yourself. Mutter away you poor drunk. I'm just standing here till the cops get here.]

I look at him, really look at him for the first time and notice he has a kind face that doesn't necessarily have the markings of a hard drinkin' transient living under the bridge. He has an earring in one ear. He seems clean, sweet, a little older than me...and I notice he is getting increasingly pale. I squat down next to him.

ME: "Sir. Are you OK? You look very pale."

HE ON THE GROUND: "I'm just dizzy. I tripped back there and fell. On my face."

[That explains all the dried, brown stuff down his shirt and pants. I think his nose is bleeding.]

ME: "Sir. Do you know the number of someone I can call?"

HE ON THE GROUND: "I just stepped out for a minute. I don't have my phone. I don't know any numbers. It's moving day. That's why I'm dressed this way."

[Hmmm. No phone, eh? You're old enough to memorize a number. Maybe you are drunk. Wait...paleness again...I think he's fading...]

I see a traffic cop pull up next to us. Russian girl has asked that I wait with her. I nod a firm 'I'm not leaving now that I'm involved'. A middle aged man in shorts and blue t-shirt stands with us and says nothing. He walks over to the traffic cop who drives off. Guess the cop was on break.

ME: "Sir. You look pale again. How are you doing?"

HE ON THE GROUND: "I'm just dizzy."

He spots my iPhone.

HE ON THE GROUND: "Can you email my friend?"

[OHHH. KAAAY. It is official. I'm the ass. Pregnant Russian girl is not the victim here. Let it go. Shake that assessment missy. Sergeant-Jim-Crowley much?]

ME: "OF COURSE! Yes. What is the email?"

He spells it out and tells me to tell his friend that 'Leonard fell'. His friend, Dave, is at work and going to help him move today. The ambulance pulls up. I ask the EMT where they are taking him so I can alert his friend. I'm told they are not allowed to reveal such information as it is confidential. Leonard looks at the side of the ambulance and turns to me:

"St. Luke's."

And I'm the one trying to help. Leonard had to point out my email capabilities and how to read the side of an ambulance. I need stronger coffee.

I remember thinking I had grown as an individual the day I realized having expectations about someone or something was one of the most threatening things you could do to yourself. If you don't expect anything, you can be flexible. You can bend with the wind. Expectations are scary. But, expectations can be pleasantly unmet.

"You cain't alweys geat whatchu waaant..."

I have since determined that there is nothing as scary as disappointment. When you're disappointed, you're hurt and no one likes pain. Especially the lonely kind. The relative to you and only you kind. Maybe Leonard can teach me about that one. Is he up yet?

I got an email from Dave and Leonard when they got back from the hospital. When Leonard fell prior to crossing my path he broke his knee cap and fractured his elbow. And he only said he was dizzy! Dave assured me Leonard doesn't drink, especially not at nine in the morning.

What a nice surprise.