At the bus stop on the corner of Westchester and Evergreen, a lady, who seemed as if she was in her late fifties, was walking across the street with a child who was about seven years old. He was wearing a blue backpack and jeans with a striped shirt. It looked as if “Watch out!” came out of his mouth. His guardian, not paying attention, crossed in the middle of the street when it was actually a red light turning green. I was on a bus when all I heard was a scream for help. The lady flew with the child about 25 feet away from the car, which was a red taxi cab. The man in the taxicab was wearing a blue shirt and denim jeans, looking as if fear had jumped out from him. He looked as if he could not believe what had just happened. He kept looking at the two bodies on the pavement, trying not to be in shock and blaming it on himself, when he knew it was just a mistake.
A lady looking out the window on the bus screamed as if she knew them. She was trying not to panic but her face said it all, “Oh my God! I hope they’re not dead.” She was in shock. Her mouth opened, and her eyes grew deeper. She was trying to gasp for air but she couldn’t, because she was in pain. She grabbed her cell phone, looked as if she were calling 911 to tell them what had just happened. Too frantic, the phone was trembling and she was just terrified.
By that time we had all gotten out of the bus because the bus driver said so. People were panicked and not knowing exactly what just happened.
The police and an ambulance came to spectate what just happened. They took the lady in an ambulance and I tried to read their lips. It seemed as if they were saying, “We just lost the child.” He was fractured, I guessed, because he flew at least 25 feet away and the car was speeding but I hope they got out. God bless them.
It was what happened that day that taught me that life can be short or long: you decide.