The Samaritan

I saw a kid on a motorcycle just as described in this story one day...


The Samaritan

by

P.L. Ellars



Sometimes you’re in the right place at the right time. If that’s true, then somebody’s got to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The kid on the scuffed up old BMW GS motorcycle was definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was Saturday morning. I had seen him about twenty minutes earlier as I was driving downtown to drop some letters off at the Post Office and do my banking. He was racing up and down the streets standing up on the pegs in baggy shorts, tank top, hightop sneakers and an equally scuffed up old off-road helmet.

I was on my way home and had just gone past the elementary school when I saw him again, this time in my rear view mirror and coming up fast. In front of me, coming from the right, was a kid about 12 or so on his bicycle leaving the playground of the deserted schoolyard. I slowed down to let the kid on the bicycle cross in front of me from right to left. The guy on the motorcycle didn’t. He must have seen my brake lights, but instead of slowing down, I heard his engine speed up and saw him pull out into the oncoming lane to pass me. The kid on the bicycle and the guy on the motorcycle couldn’t see each other through my car; I could only watch what happened in the next few seconds in what seemed like slow motion.

First it was the sound of the motorcycle’s rear tire screeching as the guy locked it up at around 50 miles per hour after he finally saw the kid. I continued braking and came to a complete stop as I watched the heavy motorcycle’s back end swing fast and violently around to the right, swatting the kid on the bicycle like a baseball bat. They both went down hard. The kid and his bicycle were knocked over to the curb on the far side of the intersection, the guy and his motorcycle sliding along on the pavement after him.

It was over in an instant. I drove my car through the intersection, pulled up next to them, got out and was aware of total silence. I looked around to see if anyone heard the accident. No one came out of their house to see what all the commotion was about. The nearest house was about 100 yards away, on the other side of a stand of trees next to the school, so they must not have heard anything. I watched for a few seconds more to see if anybody came out. No one did. I then looked down at the kid on the bicycle. His left arm and leg were obviously broken by the unnatural bend to them. His helmet had been ripped off and blood was streaming from his head; he wasn’t moving. The guy on the motorcycle was starting to move a little and I heard him groan. He was lying face down and his helmet was pushed up to where the chin bar covered his eyes. I walked over to him; he must have heard me because he said:
“Hey man, is somebody there? I need help, man! I need it now! Is somebody there? Come on, man, say something! I think my collarbone is broken, I can’t move my arm. Dude, is anybody there?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Call an ambulance, man. My fuckin’ ankle feels like its ground off. It hurts like hell and I can’t move my arm. Do something, man!”
“The kid you hit is dead.” I told him.
“Yeah? Well, it was an accident, man. An accident. I didn’t mean to hit him. Shit happens. Come on, dude, call the fucking ambulance. I’m in some serious pain here and it’s gettin’ worse.”
“Shit happens? Is that what you said? You killed that kid and all you can say is ‘shit happens’?”
“Hey look, man, he shoulda seen me comin’, you know? How was I supposed to know he was in front of your car. He shoulda seen or heard me, man. Come on, please, call the fuckin’ ambulance. I’m bleedin’ to death here. I need some fuckin’ help, man.”
I walked over to him. The blood had stopped flowing from the dead kid’s head. His eyes were open and he stared off down the road seeing nothing.
I squatted down behind the guy on the motorcycle. He was still lying face down with his helmet pushed up. He could not see me.
“You don’t seem too concerned about the kid on the bike, friend”. I told him.
“Hey, man, look, right now I got to get some help myself. I can’t do shit for him right now. Maybe later, you know, when I get better.”
“And when you get better, then what? Back on the road and on to your next victim? That would hardly be the right thing to do, to turn you loose on the world again. I don’t think you feel much remorse for the kid here.”
“Remorse? I don’t even know what the fuck that means, man. Quit stalling and preachin’ this philosophical bullshit and call the fuckin’ ambulance, man, I’m in pain and need help!”
“But if I help you, I would not be helping the rest of the world.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, man! Just call the goddam ambulance. You know, man, I’m going to report you. You know, it’s against the law, to not help somebody at an accident. You got to…”
I put my knee in between his shoulder blades and pushed the chin bar up higher making sure he could not see me.
“HEY! What the fuck are you doin’, man! Get off me! Are you fuckin’ crazy or somethin’? Get the fuck off me!”
“Maybe the world would be a better place if people like you didn’t drive anymore.” I told him.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about. It ain’t for you to decide, man. Some fuckin’ old judge will do that. I know, I’ve been in court before and I know how this fuckin’ system works, man. I might get some time, but probably not, so get over it and call the goddamn ambulance.”
I put more of my weight on my knee, pressing him closer to the pavement, immobilizing him. I could hear him struggling to breathe. Reaching around, I found his chin and started working my hand up his face under the helmet.
“What the hell are you doing, man! Goddamit! You’re not supposed to move the helmet after an accident. Every fuckin’ asshole knows that!” he gasped.
“Have you ever seen a blind person ride a motorcycle?” I asked him.
“WHAT! No, I haven’t. Oh shit, please don’t! No! man, don’t do that, come on, man, no!”
I kept working my hand up his face, spreading my first two fingers until I was just past his nose. I could feel my fingers were just under his eyes.
“Oh, God, please, mister, please don’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to kill that kid. It was an accident. I swear to God I’ll never…”
Putting all of my weight on my knee, I heard the breath rush out of him as I rammed my two fingers deep into his eye sockets. His eyes popped and covered my fingers with warm, thick, slimy mucous. I heard him gasp air in quickly and then start to pant. He continued to breathe in short, fast pants and started sobbing at the same time. I looked around and still no one came out of their house. I walked back to my car, got in and drove away. Looking into the rear view mirror I could see him try and roll over on his back, his shoulders shaking convulsively.

Sometimes the work of a Samaritan is not easy to understand, I’m sure there are gray areas, but I feel that the true Samaritan, the true Samaritan, works for the greater good of all.




Well, a medieval solution to a modern problem, eh?