Why These Moments Pt 1

Deb took a deep breath. She had made it through the intensity of the last few months. Now, all we had to do was celebrate the holidays and prepare for our Denver flight the following morning. ‘I would like to take the T over to Bowdoin Street and walk to 75 Chestnut to get Dad cups for his birthday,’ she said, ‘Maybe we can sit and have a happy hour drink, then go somewhere for dinner.’ ‘Sure,’ I agreed. We put on our shoes and coats, Deb making sure she had her keys, and we walked down the stairs to go outside. 

Stepping onto the sidewalk outside, I took a deep breath. The faint smell of saltwater was in the air, but it was warm. It was the middle of December, and yet it was still at least fifty degrees out. Of course, the sharp wind was not blowing, which made all the difference. We walked to the intersection and turned right, continuing to walk towards the T, another name for the subway. An occasional car would speed past us as we walked down the hill. We stopped at the light and waited for the walk sign to turn white. Deb took a deep sigh. ‘I am so ready for this vacation,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I can only imagine,’ I responded in assurance. Suddenly, the walk sign flashed white, and we crossed the street. There were a couple of different ways to get to the T. All would require us to cut through Bremen Street Community Park. 

The park is one of the nicer ones in East Boston. It is a long, narrow park that spans four blocks. One of the Boston Public Library's branches sits on the northeast end of the park. Just south of the library is one of the community gardens, where people from the neighborhood have individual plots to grow vegetables. Past the community garden is an assortment of crabapple and pair trees facing an open field where people can play soccer, football, or run around, along with multiple playgrounds. Beyond that, a patchwork of open space and paths make up the rest of the park. The T stands in the middle near a splash pool for summertime fun.

Deb and I entered the gate by the library and headed right onto the path toward the T. The winter sun had set, and the lampposts lit our way. I looked ahead and saw three young teenagers a short distance away. One of them was hunched over while the other two hit him. ‘Kids will be kids,’ I thought to myself as we walked closer and nearer. As we passed them, I saw that the hunched-over kid had a serious look and was making noise like he was trying to cough.  One of his friends hit him on the back again. It suddenly dawned on me that the kids might not be horsing around.

‘Are you ok?’ I asked. The hunched-over kid frantically shook his head no. ‘Are you choking?’ I asked, and he responded by desperately shaking his head yes. With a couple of steps, I had him in my arms. At that moment, there was a feeling of innocence, of trust. The kid was not trying to be tough, and I was no longer just a stranger. In moments like this, facades seem to slip off, and you are simply left with the hypothetical marrow that makes up the moments and individuals. ‘Call 911,’ I intensely directed the one friend. ‘What should I do?’ Deb asked. ‘Run to the library and see if anyone there can help!’ I responded.  With that, Deb spun around and sprinted towards the library. I reached around him, placing my right fist on the kid’s abdomen just below his sternum. My right hand formed a fist while my left hand locked it into place and sharply pushed in and up. Nothing. Again, I did it, and again, nothing. Again, I repeated it. A moment of fear flashed through my mind. ‘I have been here before…’ and a scene suddenly played out from a time before….

I am standing at the bus stop on Massachusettes Avenue and Albany Street, next to Boston Medical Center, waiting for the bus. I had left work early because of a doctor's appointment. A van is parked next to the curb where women pull food out to give to random forgotten people who stop by. A man I have become friends with is standing nearby, eating the chicken given to him. Suddenly, he drops his food and starts grabbing at his throat. I run up to him and ask if he is choking. Despite being unable to speak, his eyes are screaming ‘yes.’ He turns, and I reach around and begin doing the Heimlich maneuver. Over and over, I repeat, using all of the strength that I can muster to no avail. I scream at the people frozen around us to call 911, but everyone is anchored to the scene and cannot move or speak. Finally, I let go of the man and ran towards the emergency department that was around the corner. As I round the corner, I spot a cop in his vehicle and flag him down. I yell at him that I need his help as a man is choking at the bus stop. I race back, the cop following in his car. As I approach the choking man, he is flailing his arms. I begin doing the Heimlich maneuver again on him as the cop sits in his vehicle. Suddenly, my strength is sapped, and as I let go of the choking man, he crumples to the ground, wiggling, then twitching, and then motionless. Finally, the cop exits his cruiser, and another cop pulls up to assist. I yell at them that the man is choking. They walk over and crouch next to him and then pull out Narcan, acting as though he is overdosing, completely ignoring what I have repeatedly told them. ‘You stupid mother$@#!s,’ I screamed at them. ‘He is not overdosing; he is choking to death.’ At that moment, I realized that I simply could not watch my friend die, and I turned away. ‘Am I a coward for not doing more?’ floats on repeat through my mind….