The first time I watched a person die

Before I continue, it’s probably a good idea to inform you that I was in no way responsible for his death. It was just a horrible coincidence that I saw it happen.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I used to go to school by bus. This meant waking up at 5:15am, showering, eating breakfast, checking my mail and finishing my homework before I set out. In 2007, November the something^th, I did just that. I had a history exam that day, which was good in a way because I like history and even though I rarely received any praise for the lengthy systems analysis I put into my exam essays it is always fun writing them.

My bus stop was on the far end of a six lane road in xxxxxxx, right next to a dark green speed camera. Because this road is a gateway between the suburbs and the commercial district, drunk drivers frequently speed by at night and, caught by the camera, veer off the road so they can ram it over in the vain hope of destroying evidence of their crime. Every few months the camera would be replaced, but our bus stop shelter was left looking like so much twisted shrapnel it would make a politician look upstanding by comparison.

I arrived at my usual time, sat cross-legged against a nearby streetlight and continued to read my book (I say ‘continued’ because contrary to popular belief it really is possible to walk to a bus stop while perusing a book). I would normally be able to tell you which book this was, but I have read so many books beneath that particular lamp post my memories have blurred together.

A few personalities made a frequent occurrence at my bus stop. Thomas usually arrived at around 6:04am. I-pod College Girl arrived at 6:10am. Red-haired lady would breeze in at 6:16am, and Bag Lady would join soon after to speak to her. The bus could arrive from any time between 6:20am and 6:45am.

As I read, there was a nightmarish ‘scree-thud’ across the road. I barely saw the body go flying out of the corner of my eye, but those who did said it flew about two metres. I can’t forget that noise. I don’t picture the human body as something hard, capable of bending metal and plastic on impact. We are a fragile species, who survive only by avoiding brute trauma.

When the traffic permitted, I walked to the traffic island in the middle of the road with my phone pressed to my ear, hearing an endless ringing that may as well have been the snoring of the collective emergency services drone in ambience. Traffic was blocked off by the offending car. I-pod College Girl was nearby, putting on rubber gloves before she checked for a pulse.

The Victim stared at the sky, his jaw slack, blood pooling behind his head. I held out the back of my hand to check if he was breathing, but he wasn’t. No pulse, either. But as I watched, his head moved slightly to the side. I’ve convince myself since then that this was a trick of gravity brought about as his blood congealed.

Details stick out in my memory. He wore a white shirt with brown and tan cross-hatchings, and grey pants. He had a wad of folded papers in his breast pocket, and possibly his ID. He wore one of those fancy watches with interlocking bronze bands, and the crystal of its face was cracked, the watch itself stopped. I remarked on these things to I-Pod College girl, pointing out how the coroner would have no trouble finding out his time of death or his identity. I heard the panicked insistence of the driver, “He just ran into the road, and them I hit him.”

I stood up from where I was squatting by the body and looked at the man and his car. There was blood at the heart of a fractured web of glass on his windshield. The driver looked like he may have had a concussion. His face and that of his victim are interchangeable to me now. Both have that same, stupefied expression. Though the victim was dead, I think I pity the driver more. There was no changing the energy beating off him, screaming injustice and loss. No man can walk away whole after doing something like that, even by accident.

I returned to the bus stop, and we informed everyone as to what had happened and shared our varied perspectives. We watched as tow trucks arrived, then the police. The bus arrived before any ambulance showed up.

At school, before the exam, someone who had driven by asked me why I had gone to take photos of the body. They had seem me with my phone and assumed… that. I don’t know whether to blame their inaccurate perception of me, or of reality as a whole. Neither option is comforting.

I wrote my exam, finishing it with the words, ‘I apologise if this is not up to my usual standards. I may have seen someone die this morning.’

I didn’t get any reply from that notation. You would think a teacher would ask.