SNOW ANGEL

Even this far away, walking through the background noise of a city late at night, Eric knew instantly that someone nearby was yelling. The sound was bouncing around too much to pinpoint, yet close enough to make his stomach tighten. Was it homeless people? Some kids Just goofing around somewhere? As he kept walking, he kept guessing, until all at once he didn't have to guess anymore. This time when Eric heard the yelling, he could see exactly where it was coming from. A few blocks ahead of him, About the halfway point on his walk to work, a large Gray truck slammed its door and pulled off farther into the city. The obviously male driver had been the yelling he had heard, leaving the sobbing woman kneeling on the snowy sidewalk like smoke from his exhaust. As he walked closer, the woman let out a long drawn-out sigh.

“FUUUUUUUCK”. a warm plume of agony and frustration floating into the cold night air. She was kneeling in the snowy wreckage, dressed in thin jeans and a faded T- shirt. She must have been freezing. She made no effort to gather everything back up. She looked scared, embarrassed, frustrated, cold and alone. She wasn't crying or yelling. Things were eerily silent. What exactly had he just witnessed? Was it the end of something? The middle? Or even worse, Was this just the start? Has this happened to her before? Does she have anywhere to go? A thousand questions raced through his mind as he approached her, But the closer Eric got, the more useless they felt. On the other side of the street, now less than 10 feet away, he had only one thought. 

What am I going to do? without ever changing pace or finding a good answer, Eric walked past. He didn't look at her. She didn't look at him. She was looking straight up, in a position that might be confused for ecstasy if he hadn't seen Mr. Truck Driver. Her eyes were closed, as silent tears streamed down her bright red cheeks. It was, in a queer kind of way, eerily beautiful. As he moved past nervously, Eric thought about the bystander effect. He thought about what he could have done to help her. Was the whole saving the damsel in distress thing just some kind of white knight fantasy that would end up being totally unhelpful? There was just too much He didn't know. Honestly, he probably didn't want to know.On the walk home after a boring shift, he had done his best to forget about the woman and Mr. Truck Driver. 

Before reaching his front door, he would see a woman's T-shirt blowing past like a tumbleweed, and he would think of her again