Don't Cry Out (5)
Who are the people that really made a difference in who you are today? Do you remember all of their names? What is it that made them special, or made you see things differently? Was it them, or was it the situation at the time, that made you understand something you never had before? How did you change? I had to consider these things while writing this book. I had to think of whom I’d met, and what they said, or did, that impacted me. Then, I realized it wasn’t just the people around me; it was me too. I’d reached a point where I could gain something from these people. I was like clay in a sculptures hand. I had a shape, but these strangers were adding the detail to my form. I was changing. I thought about my situation for weeks. I started thinking there was no way I could possibly make any real lasting difference in what was happening. How could an 18-year-old girl, with a minimum wage job, a drug problem, and an abusive live-in boyfriend possibly get ahead? I was trapped in believing I was helpless. Little did I know my entire world was about to change from one chance encounter with a man I didn’t even know. I went on with my normal routine for days, trying not to let on what was running through my mind. Pat came over on Tuesday, like he said he would, and our time together offered me an escape from my thoughts. But eventually he had to leave, and I was still in the same place. Denis had no clue what I was going through, and to be honest, I wanted to keep it that way. His reactions were very unpredictable right then, and I didn’t see how another fat lip would help me think clearer. Another day came, and I started off with my normal routine. Upper, lower, clean between; Dress for work; Check the weather, and get an umbrella; Stop to buy cigarettes from Manny. Nothing different. Nothing out of order. Have to go to work; might rain today. While standing at the window, waiting for my change, I noticed a crowd forming outside the auto parts store on the other corner. I watched people running back and forth from, the front door, in a panicked frenzy. Then I noticed a body, lying on the ground in front of the door, and realized no one was helping him. Everyone was simply gathering around him for the show. I thought briefly whether I should get involved. If I did, I was liable to be late for work after all. How do I know what’s happened? How do I know I can do anything to help? Why should I bother? Why not? I went across the street, and through the crowd. “He just dropped over!” One of the voices said. “Must be sick or something. Probably shouldn’t touch him.” Commented another. “Did you call an ambulance?” Questioned a woman’s voice this time. I looked at the man on the ground. He was a white man, about 60 years old, and as pale as the concrete he lay on. If this man wasn’t dead yet, he soon would be from the look of him. No one was doing anything to help him, and no one was planning to either. I knew CPR from school, but it didn’t mean I could save him. I decided, however, to try. I knelt down next to his shoulder, and listened to his chest. Nothing. No sound at all. I tipped his head back, and blew in his mouth five times, then listened again. I could hear air coming back out, but there was no heart beating to pump it through his body. “Go and call for help!” I yelled. “He had a heart attack. He needs an ambulance!” “Bad for business.” I looked up to see the owner of the store in the doorway, shaking his head and saying over and over “This is bad for business.” How anyone could think of something like that I didn’t know. I reached down to the guy on the ground, and tried to remember where you push to do CPR. Doing the best I could to find the spot, I laced my fingers together, and started to push hard on his chest. All around me I could hear people asking, “What’s she doing?” and “I thought you shouldn’t move them?” “Does anyone know mouth to mouth?” I asked. “I need some help.” “I do.” I looked behind me, and saw Manny. I smiled, and nodded at him. He came up to the man’s head, knelt down, tipped his head back, and started to blow in his mouth. Then he looked at me. As I pushed on the man’s chest I counted aloud. “1,2,3,4,5 blow.” Manny and I worked together. As we were doing CPR it started to softly rain. “1,2,3,4,5 blow.” Where is the ambulance? “1,2,3,4,5 blow.” Am I doing this right? “1,2,3” CRACK I broke a rib. I stopped for a second, not knowing what to do. Manny looked at me with concern in his eyes. “He’ll forgive you for a rib. Keep going.” I took a deep breath, and started again. “1,2,3,4,5 blow.” A minute or so later I heard the scream of the ambulance in the distance. “Bad for business.” “Did you hear that crack? Should’ve left him alone!” “What do you think he has?” “What about the thing the gays get? Might be that AIDS thing. I read something about it.” “1,2,3,4,5 blow” Finally the ambulance pulled in. The EMT's came over, carrying red boxes and a board. “What happened?” One of them asked. “Just dropped over.” Came a reply from the crowd. “Excuse me miss,” one of the EMT's said as he pushed me out of the way. He listened for a couple seconds, with his stethoscope, and announced to his partner, “We have a faint heart beat. Doesn’t sound too good.” They worked on him there, in the rain, for a couple of minutes. Then they put him on the board, on the stretcher, and loaded him in the ambulance. Within a few minutes they were gone. Manny put his hand on my shoulder and shook me slightly. “He has a heartbeat. That means he has a chance.” Everyone was looking at me. Blank stares were on all their faces. Then I heard something. Someone started to clap. One by one each person joined in. They were clapping for me. Later that night there was a knock on my door. When I answered it I saw a gray haired woman standing there. “Are you the one who helped my husband this morning across the street?” She inquired. “Yes, I am. How is he?” “He died a little while ago.” He died. After all we’d done, he died anyhow. I didn’t make a difference. I didn’t change things. I shouldn’t have bothered. “I wanted to thank you.” She said. “He’d been sick for a while, and he knew his heart was bad. I told him to take it easy, but he never listened. He was at the store to get parts for our grandson’s motorbike. He was fixing it up for him for his birthday. He loved to tinker with things like that. Anyway, I wanted to thank you for helping him.” “I just wish I could’ve made a difference.” “You did. Don’t you know that? He died, yes, but he died knowing someone tried. He didn’t die in the rain, alone. He died warm and dry, surrounded by all of us. He died with dignity.” A tear ran down her face. I’d never thought of there being different kinds of death. I didn’t have to help him live to make a difference. I just had to try. “Anyway, thank you.” I watched her walk away. I never did find out the name of either her, or her husband, but they changed me. I have no way to tell her she made a difference, but if I could, I would say thank you to her also. I found belief in myself at the auto parts store, in the rain. 5 “I can do this.” No you can’t. “I can do this.” Are you sure? “I can do this!” “What?” “I said I can do this.” “Fine, do it yourself then!” Denis threw the screwdriver on the floor and stomped out of the room. I hadn’t realized I’d been saying anything. I’d started having little conversations with myself, but now I apparently had started to talk out loud. We were working on taking the kitchen island apart, to take it out, at least that’s what Denis thought we were doing. While pulling nails with the hammer, I was talking with my mother in my head, or at least talking with myself about talking with my mother. I’d decided she would be the first change I was going to make. I had to talk to her sometime, and I had to make it clear I was doing ok on my own. After we get the island taken apart that is. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be like that. Will you please help me?” “Make up your mind, would you? Either you want my help or you don’t!” “I want your help.” Well, not really, but I want peace in the house, and if you don’t get to help there will be no peace. I could probably do it on my own, but I need to have everything in order if my mother comes over, and that can’t happen if you are tearing things up. “Help me, don’t help me, help me! Damn women! Fine, here I am. Let’s get this done.” A couple minutes and 2 smashed fingers later the island was in pieces. We carried it out, to the road, for the garbage pick up. After the last piece was set out, Denis walked to his van. “Going out?” “Yeah. Got a problem with it?” Asshole. “No, should I make you dinner, or you eating out?” “I’ll eat out.” The door slammed closed so hard I thought the mirror might fall off. The engine cranked over a few times, and finally caught. Some day I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky, and the van wouldn’t start. I watched him pull away, in a cloud of smoke, and breathed a sigh of relief. As I swept the floor in the kitchen I continued my internal dialogue. I was reasonably certain it was a sign of mental problems, but what could I do about it? I was someone I could talk to. Craziness or not, it seemed to help. I just had to make sure it stayed in my head instead of spilling out my mouth any more. Saying those things out loud would get my ears boxed for sure. I’d made a list of things to change. I thought about all of them carefully, and gave them an order of importance. Talking to my mother was going to be hard to do, but I couldn’t move forward if she was still mentally holding me back. I had to face her and prove I was able to have a life of my own. You see I wasn’t the only voice in my head. There were lots of people in there with me, and most of them were not supportive. Hers was one of the voices. I realized they were in my imagination, don’t get me wrong, but it didn’t stop them from making me doubt myself. Having finished my sweeping, it was time to go and make my phone call. I tried for several minutes to remember why I felt it was so important. After nearly pacing a hole in the floor I managed to screw up the courage to just do it. I threw on my coat, checked the pocket to make sure I had change for the pay phone, and walked out the door. Now I think you should know the phone and I talked for about 5 minutes before I even put change in. I guess I was hoping the cold, black, metal box would tell me I should just go home, but no surprise, it never did. As the quarter clinked through the mechanism I took a deep breath. “I can do this.” The phone answered with a beep, beep, beep as I pushed in the number. “I can.” Ring “I can do this.” Ring “I can.” “Hello?” God, help me do this. “Hi. Gramma? It’s me. It’s Leanne. How are you?” “Well, I’m good! How are you? Where are you? Are you ok?” “I’m fine gram. I’m living in the city now. I have an apartment and I’m ok.” Of course I have Denis too, but…
Copyright © 2003 Sylvia Browne |