Thursday, September 14, 2006

From "Drowning and the Small Town Curse"
---We headed for the door, and the doc peered out and down the hall to his left and saw the crowd of people there, including the boys’ parents. I looked over his shoulder and saw their expressions were saying things like, “Kids, they’ll be the death of us”, whimsical embarrassment, “What are ya gonna do?” Obviously, they had come in after we rolled through the building doing CPR. The doc exhaled, steeled himself, and walked out. I froze at the door and didn’t want to walk out, especially still wearing my dive suit. People always looked at me like they were looking for answers. I don’t have words for these situations. I heard David’s mothers voice, “He Died!”
---I peeked out and saw my chance to escape by turning right and out a secondary exit which put me in a walkway between two buildings. I walked to the front of the building, which was jammed with vehicles and, avoiding people, made it to the rescue truck and ducked inside and sat in the dark.
---I suppose the crew inside was waiting for me to come by and officially excuse them from the operation. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go back inside and frankly resented being expected to be tougher than everybody else. Too many times over the years I avoided meeting and returning eye contact with people after incidents like this. One time I was walking into the post office and the elderly wife of a man we unsuccessfully tried to revive at their house was walking out, saw me, shook, put her hand up to her mouth and started bawling. I went back to my car and drove off.