The Woman on Concrete

Steven enjoyed the downward gliding sensation he got from the elevator’s smooth cruise to the ground level floor. He liked to get out of the apartment when he had a reason, especially a good reason.

He walked out the front door and took a right to grab a coffee at the nearby Starbucks on the way. He had a few extra minutes. As he turned he saw an obese older woman sprawled on the corner of the sidewalk by the traffic lights, and a younger obese woman bending over her with phone in hand.

Steven ran the 15 remaining paces to the scene. An empty motorized scooter rested at a tilted angle where the crosswalk became the sidewalk. It lorded over the woman on the floor like a victorious bull after a bullfight.

“How can I help?”

“Oh, we’re good. An ambulance is on it’s way.” The younger woman replied, looking up momentarily. The sirens were already audible.

“It’s fine.” The woman on the concrete said. She looked very calm and unconcerned about the whole situation. Almost bored. She was resting awkwardly on her back while her hips tilted on her side. Her skin poured out of various openings of her clothes and reshaped itself in mass to it’s surroundings whenever she made the slightest move. Short, stringy white hair formed a halo around head. Her top looked like a floral-patterned scrub, and she was wearing pink cotton shorts that slid all the way down her thigh as she bent her knee.

Two men got out of a nearby car, one with a shaved head, both wearing polo shirts and in their thirties.

“Is everything Ok?” The one with a shaved head asked.

“Yes, an ambulance is on it’s way.” The younger woman didn’t look up.

The ambulance turned around the nearby corner and pulled up to the curb. Steven crossed the street to the next block as the red hand gave way to the walking man sign.

What does it feel like to be that pathetic, he wondered. He wondered if he would ever be that pathetic. He wondered if he already was.