As we battled our way across the road, dodging pedestrians with the stroller, I heard the siren. I saw the crowd part, just as I imagine the Red Sea would once have done. I didn’t think much else of it though – I was too preoccupied with getting across the road safely, before the green man turned red and stopped flashing. I stood at the entrance to the train station, searching the boards for the train that would take us to daddy. We were meeting him for lunch. Sushi actually. From the great little takeaway just up the road from his office. I had four trains to choose from, all leaving from different platforms, from one end of the station to the other. I spent a few minutes calculating which would leave soonest, and which I could realistically get to on time. I’m known for lunging at train doors, just as the doors sqeeze shut. Sometimes I make it to the inside, sometimes not. I gave myself a bit of time and headed for a train that would allow me to make it with minutes to spare. There was no hurry. I even stopped at the newspaper stand to check out the day’s headlines, and contemplated buying some chuppa chups for the three of us. Then I checked my email inbox from my phone. I hate to think that I might be missing something. I sent a text to Matt to let him know we were almost on our way.
I’d forgotten about the siren, about the medics’ mad dash into the station. As I was filling in time, they were fighting for it.
On the way to the lift down to the platform I passed them. The man with his shirt torn off and his face obscured. The ambulance officers administering CPR. The curious crowd. The police officers moving them on. Through the glass as the lift lowered itself downwards I watched his body rise and fall with each effort to get his heart beating again. I felt mine beating double time, almost as if it were trying to make up for the deathly still one before it. I bowed my head and willed him to live, as a tear slid from the corner of my eye. I prayed for the stranger, struck by how fragile life is and how suddenly it can be over.
At this point I don’t know whether he made it or not, and I’m glad of this. It gives me hope that his last minutes on this earth weren’t spent on a train station floor, as an object of curiousity. Instead he’s laying in a hospital bed, thankful that he came so close and was given a second chance. I think of all the wonderful things he has planned for when he’s recovered. the dreary habits he’s going to discard. the fears he’s going to throw away. the joy he’s going to seek. the dreams he will chase. the life he will live.
And each time that scene plays itself again inside my mind I will be reminded to do the same.
And I will you to do likewise.
Live.
Narrelle x