Friday, October 11, 2002

i saw it all happen. actually, i didn’t see the actual collision, the commotion afterwards caught my attention. people stood around silently. it looked like they were looking down a well as they gathered around the injured man.

cyclos are interesting vehicles. a kind of pedal taxi. at first i thought they were only for tourists but i soon learned otherwise. they were cheap means of transporting people and goods. they are a type of reversed chariot. the horse is replaced with a thin peddler who holds onto the back of the seat of the rider. there is much metal and it, as we know, isn’t forgiving. neither is the pavement.

a cyclo driver was down on the ground as i rushed over to see what there was to see. i would not be able to help for my medical knowledge consists of: put a band aid on it and if it hurts after about a week, get it looked at. i looked at him as he sat there dazed. he seemed to be looking at nothing. for a moment, it felt as if he might be watching tv. the perpetrator was standing overhead with a pale look of repentance.

the first thing i noticed was the blood. it gathered in the cyclo driver’s hand and ran nicely over it, gracefully gliding to the ground. the cut was on his temple and there were a peppering of small cuts on his lower leg. everyone stood around as baffled and content to be observers as i.

everyone except one brave lady. she quickly found a rag and applied it to the man’s temple. the bleeding abated. she bent down to him and yelled at the crowd. having no idea what she said, i looked around for signs of what i should do. by this time the crowd had swelled and there was a low rumble of chatter. people started to help. one picked up a motorcycle. another righted the cyclo and they placed the injured driver in the passenger seat. they looked around. i must have been standing too close to the cyclo, or maybe my expression was too compassionate. maybe they just thought i was big enough to do it. they coerced me to mount the cyclo. i was to drive this man to the hospital.

the crowd mounted their many motorcycles and surrounded me like a flock of geese. i was pedaling down the street, the early morning sun beating down on my back from above. they were yelling things at me but they knew i didn’t understand. the old lady was riding beside me directing me with large gestures.

the injured driver lay in the seat with his blood soaked rag pressed against his head. he would turn to me and touch my arms which were supporting my weight behind his head. he would say something and force a smile. i felt like a king and a servant at the same time. the situation felt desperate and , yet, as if i could guide this chariot to the far corners of the earth with ease. i was awash with a million emotions and fears. i didn’t even know that my legs were burning or that my head had broken out into a thick sweat. sweat like tears.

we reached intersections and other motorcycles gave way. their was always a flurry of horns and their must have been 15 other motorcycles leading me. we arrived at the hospital and pulled into the emergency area. i flopped to the ground and my legs gave way under me. is sat there and felt like a hero and an intruder. i felt so many emotions so intensely that my entire being screamed. i sat their and breathed.

none of this happened. my day was fruitful but boring. i read “the stranger” by camus and “the affluent society” by galbraith. they were fascinating but no one wants to hear me rant about existentialism. i conjured up this story out of boredom.

i repeat, this didn’t happen. it was a figment of my imagination. a fantasy.

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