The man with no shoes
Engage clutch. First gear. Second gear. Brake. Brake. Neutral. Tap tap tap on the dashboard. Rush to engage clutch again before guy-next-to-me sneaks in front of me. First gear. RevRevRevRev. Brake. Brake. Brake. Switch radio stations. Put in a cd. Engage clutch. First. Second. Brake. Indicator on. Squeeze into left hand lane because it seems to be going faster. Hand up to say thanks to guy behind me who now looks angry. TapTapTapTap on steering wheel. Thought: "Why do these people have to be so inconsiderate and have an accident now- 40 minutes before kick-off?". TapTapTapTap. First gear- getting closer to accident. Wonder what happened. Bet you it was a taxi. Fucking Taxis. Hate Taxis. Wish they weren't on the road. Hope we don't miss the rugby. Iron-man would be pissed if we missed the rugby. TapTapTapTap.
Up ahead, the cars are moving slowly in front of me. But, as usual, they aren't moving slowly due to an obstruction in their path but because they want to take in all the gory details of the evident car crash- the show is on display for all to see. Your brain tells you to look straight ahead. This doesn't concern you. Carry on to where you were going. Human nature tells you to look. See who was injured. What caused the crash. Was is a taxi? Is anyone dead...
Unfortunately, although we try and fight it, this is in all of us. We take great interest in other people's hardships. We are interested because we want to compare their pain to ours. In so doing we can compare whether our pain, our hardships and our hurt is normal, or something to worry about. On this afternoon, I (along with the Iron-man) was merely a statistic, straining my neck to see what I could see as I inched forward.
Tragically, in this particular crash, I did not need to crane my neck to catch a stolen glimpse of the casualties- they were impossible to miss. I was faced with the initial sight of policemen and the drivers of 'the other car' (a Mercedes Benz facing the wrong way in the fast lane of the N3- a testimony to the quality and peace of mind that one buys when purchasing this brand of car). Nothing new in terms of a car crash. However, as I surveyed the scene for the drivers and passengers of the car that had been so badly mangled in this crash, my eyes happened across a picture that I will be hard-pressed to forget in a hurry.
Roughly two metres away from my open window, to the right of me, was a thin, tired looking black man. He wore no shoes. He was crouched over something. His emaciated arm and hand was stroking the dead body of someone that he knew minutes before. As I let my eyes wander, I saw a disfigured arm left behind by the finality of the blue police blanket's cover...a flash of bright crimson blood showed how far this body had traveled from impact to where it lay, lifeless.
Two lanes across, on the left hand side, more death awaited each eager voyeur. This time, the police blanket had been folded over, as the small body of this dead child didn't warrant the entirety of the blanket. This death was suffered alone as no one was there stroking the dead body of the infant. The starkness of the orange police cones demarcating it's final resting place was all this baby had as company.
As I forced myself to inch forward and begin to accelerate away from what would change the lives of all family and friends involved in that crash- irreparably, my heart was flung into my mouth. My eyes burned and my chest was rigid and causing me pain. The energy of death (and fresh death at that) was tangible. The world revolves in slow motion for the few seconds whenever death is near. Saying death is final is insufficient. It is absolute. It is conclusive. It is ultimate. But it is also fleeting. For, as death (and the lives that it inherits in it's sick poker game) moves on, slick and oily, it leaves behind the remnants of the life once lived. It doesn't leave the happiness or the inspiration. It doesn't leave peace. It leaves the bits and pieces that no one can pick up with their dust-pan and brush. It leaves people so alone and desperately unaware of how to move forward. No matter who it robs, death leaves people unable to understand what has just happened. Death leaves death behind- small pieces of it that each person involved has to endure each time a memory floats across their mind of the person that they have lost- like a thorn in your foot that you can't get out- it pricks and stings each and every time. Death doesn't leave strength, it doesn't give you solidarity. It creates bitterness and steals tenderness. It makes a cursed hole in the lives of the affected that will never be filled.
As I closed my eyes that night, on my way to sleep, the pictures of this crash flicked across my mind's eye. I reached for the Iron-man's hand and squeezed it tightly. I whispered, more to myself than to anyone else, "Spare a thought for the families who have lost the people that they love today". I was sending him courage. I was sending him peace. I hoped to send him solace... for the slumped man with no shoes, gently stroking the blanketed body of someone he once knew, was surely hurting that night.
Up ahead, the cars are moving slowly in front of me. But, as usual, they aren't moving slowly due to an obstruction in their path but because they want to take in all the gory details of the evident car crash- the show is on display for all to see. Your brain tells you to look straight ahead. This doesn't concern you. Carry on to where you were going. Human nature tells you to look. See who was injured. What caused the crash. Was is a taxi? Is anyone dead...
Unfortunately, although we try and fight it, this is in all of us. We take great interest in other people's hardships. We are interested because we want to compare their pain to ours. In so doing we can compare whether our pain, our hardships and our hurt is normal, or something to worry about. On this afternoon, I (along with the Iron-man) was merely a statistic, straining my neck to see what I could see as I inched forward.
Tragically, in this particular crash, I did not need to crane my neck to catch a stolen glimpse of the casualties- they were impossible to miss. I was faced with the initial sight of policemen and the drivers of 'the other car' (a Mercedes Benz facing the wrong way in the fast lane of the N3- a testimony to the quality and peace of mind that one buys when purchasing this brand of car). Nothing new in terms of a car crash. However, as I surveyed the scene for the drivers and passengers of the car that had been so badly mangled in this crash, my eyes happened across a picture that I will be hard-pressed to forget in a hurry.
Roughly two metres away from my open window, to the right of me, was a thin, tired looking black man. He wore no shoes. He was crouched over something. His emaciated arm and hand was stroking the dead body of someone that he knew minutes before. As I let my eyes wander, I saw a disfigured arm left behind by the finality of the blue police blanket's cover...a flash of bright crimson blood showed how far this body had traveled from impact to where it lay, lifeless.
Two lanes across, on the left hand side, more death awaited each eager voyeur. This time, the police blanket had been folded over, as the small body of this dead child didn't warrant the entirety of the blanket. This death was suffered alone as no one was there stroking the dead body of the infant. The starkness of the orange police cones demarcating it's final resting place was all this baby had as company.
As I forced myself to inch forward and begin to accelerate away from what would change the lives of all family and friends involved in that crash- irreparably, my heart was flung into my mouth. My eyes burned and my chest was rigid and causing me pain. The energy of death (and fresh death at that) was tangible. The world revolves in slow motion for the few seconds whenever death is near. Saying death is final is insufficient. It is absolute. It is conclusive. It is ultimate. But it is also fleeting. For, as death (and the lives that it inherits in it's sick poker game) moves on, slick and oily, it leaves behind the remnants of the life once lived. It doesn't leave the happiness or the inspiration. It doesn't leave peace. It leaves the bits and pieces that no one can pick up with their dust-pan and brush. It leaves people so alone and desperately unaware of how to move forward. No matter who it robs, death leaves people unable to understand what has just happened. Death leaves death behind- small pieces of it that each person involved has to endure each time a memory floats across their mind of the person that they have lost- like a thorn in your foot that you can't get out- it pricks and stings each and every time. Death doesn't leave strength, it doesn't give you solidarity. It creates bitterness and steals tenderness. It makes a cursed hole in the lives of the affected that will never be filled.
As I closed my eyes that night, on my way to sleep, the pictures of this crash flicked across my mind's eye. I reached for the Iron-man's hand and squeezed it tightly. I whispered, more to myself than to anyone else, "Spare a thought for the families who have lost the people that they love today". I was sending him courage. I was sending him peace. I hoped to send him solace... for the slumped man with no shoes, gently stroking the blanketed body of someone he once knew, was surely hurting that night.
Comments
Post a Comment