Enid Fefer
 
From the journal
 

I had to stop.   A least 9 to 12 police cars, a fire engine and an
ambulance. I pulled over last night on Howard Street just west of Dodge.  I thought of all
gawking ghoulish people who would stop to look and I was included in the bunch. A body has lying
in the street.lifeless.  I don't want to talk to the police.  They look busy  and
really, I am afraid to bother them so I approach three older women standing in front of the
Gold Coin Restaurant.  They stop talking to answer a few questions, but I can tell
I am intruding on their conversation.  I want to do something.  I donut want the lifeless
body to die.  Especially to die alone.  I am sick.  A man approaches me and asks me
the same questions that I asked the other three women.  What happened? Is he OK.
 The police come over several times and ask me if I saw the accident.  I want to say
yes and tell them who the bustard is who did this. But I say no.  The stretcher comes and
they secure the body’s head. They carry him to the ambulance and his arm falls down off
the stretcher, lifeless.  When I get home, I want to call St. Francis Hospital and ask
about the body/boy/man/victim, but I am afraid. I am afraid he is dead.  Maybe
they will think that I did it too.  I watch the news this morning. Police are looking for a
Cadilac who ran down a boy who is in critical condition at St. Francis.  Ran Down.  They
don't call it hit and run,  They say ran down.  I remember all the people in the Gold Coin last
night.  A kind of Edward Hopper surrealistic view inside the lit restaurant with all faces
peering out at the accident as I walk by.  Run Down. Someone did it deliberately. I
remember all the people on the other side of the street.  It looked like a lot of teenage boys.
 Run Down.  Critical. Does that mean he will probably die. I remember the man saying and
pointing, Look at all the blood in the street. I tell him I am going home to pray for this
boy. I am upset.  Is worrying the same thing as praying
 
 

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