An Observation of Two Men Working to Save A Life
I once watched a man die in the parking lot of a Kentucky Fried Chicken.
I watched from inside my car as two paramedics did all they could to save him. They worked hard to keep his heart beating.
It looked exhausting.
The two of them, there on their knees, one to each side of the man.
The man lying on the pavement beside his car, his arms and legs stretched out and spread wide like a dying cartoon.
The blue door of his nineteen-ninety-something Oldsmobile left wide open. A sixty-four ounce plastic soda cup left on the roof.
The paramedics. One was old, the other young. The young one was skinny and had pimples on his face. The old one was fat and had scars from pimples on his face.
I remember thinking, as I watched them sweat, that they worked well together. I thought the two of them made a good team.
The old one was throwing the whole of his weight into the mans chest with every compression. The young one sucking gallons of air into his own lungs before transferring it all into those of the dying man.
They made no eye contact. They said nothing. They worked tirelessly.
They shared something. Something more than the power to save lives. Or the desire to at least try. I didn’t know what they shared.
And then I thought maybe I did. I started to see these two as one person. Older and younger versions of each other. I was happy to think that one or the other had traveled back or forth through time to be here for his younger or older self. I wondered why one might have traveled through time to be here for the other. I wondered if either of them had a clue. Was this something they had discussed? While sitting in their rig waiting for work, maybe?
I noticed they had stopped doing anything.
They stretched their backs up straight. The old one let his tired arms fall to his sides, the young one put his on his head. The old one was panting like a dog. The young one took another deep breath, and with no one to breathe it into, let it out with a defeated sigh. For the first time since I had started watching them, they looked right at each other.
At the same time, as one, they both stood up. The old one first getting a foot under himself before pushing off his knee with both his hands. He leaned against the blue Oldsmobile with his hands again to his sides. Still panting, though slower. Catching his breath, now. His eyes went back to the body.
The young one rose to his feet without any trouble at all. He leaned against nothing. His breathing was stable. He put his hands in his pockets and looked to his tired old partner, shaking his head at his future self.
Copyright © June 2009 Chris La Cour
22 Responses
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Great to see you back, Chris and even greater to see you back with such a fabulous piece of writing. Something deeply haunting in it just outside of the reach of rational thought. Can’t explain it at all but very moving and reminded me in its control and pacing of Richard Brautigan.
Thanks, Paul. I think it sort of reads like a kind of memoir piece, though it is (mostly) fiction.
I’m going to have to check out Richard Brautigan’s work.
And thanks, so much, for the mention and link in your ‘why do minor chords sound so sad‘, post.
[...] An observation of two men working to save a life by Chris Lacour [...]
You’ve told this story so well. You feel the emotion tinging throughout the story and the final paragraph sums it up. How we look at someone else and see where were headed. Well done. Have a great day.
Thanks, Michelle. Starting the day off with a couple of positive comments on a story means I will have a great day.
Have a great one yourself!
such strong and delicate images and observations and it is like seeing thru to a deeper core of being with a magnifying glass, an unforgettable reading experience, thank you
Thanks for the great comment, Tipota.
And thank you for reading.
Great piece.
Thanks, Cocoyea.
glad that paul linked ya.. otherwise i woulda missed a great story.. it is the simple descriptions of life itself… observing unnoticed… maybe it’s the style you wrote that captures the moment… sorta like caught in a web unable to move… “…it looked exhausting….” brings one in outta curiosity, possibly….. moving… yeah, thaz it… moving… from one to another….
Glad I caught ya, Pieceofpie! Thanks.
Paul brought me here. This is a fine piece of writing, very good as a whole. Two parts especially stand out for me:
“And then I thought maybe I did. I started to see these two as one person. Older and younger versions of each other.”
and
“The old one let his tired arms fall to his sides, the young one put his on his head. The old one was panting like a dog. The young one took another deep breath, and with no one to breathe it into, let it out with a defeated sigh.”
I find myself wanting this to be the beginning of a novel. I want to know more – if not about the men then about the observer.
Thanks, Poeticgrin. I wish it were the beginning of a novel. You’re right, there’s still plenty to know about both the observer and the two men. Hmm…
Nicely observed, the difference and the sameness, the contrast of time lines…but where my attention is really drawn to is that these two do what they do…at all.
Seems to me that this simple fact is what offers us all the greatest hope of some eventual redemption…
Thanks
Poetman
Thank you, 1poet4man. I couldn’t agree more.
Thank you Chris. Nice to have you back at it.
Thanks, Bird. One every now and then is better than none at all I suppose.
so true
Paul sent me your way, and I’m so glad he did. This is a brilliant short piece. I found myself shivering as I read. The best writing captures the unspeakable — that which is beyond language — in the spaces between its words, and that’s exactly what you have done here.
Thanks for a great comment, Thomma Lyn.
Moving… powerful… simply beautiful…
These are the first adjectives that came to my mind after reading this.
I can’t explain it, but this piece is so sad yet so lovely. It is wise on so many levels.
Thank you very much, Brainteaser.