Behind the door

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We stood there, hands down, in the pouring rain on the doorstep, watching the paramedics roll the stretcher into the ambulance. We did not know the woman lying unconscious on a stretcher. But that didn’t make it any better.

It was a gray cold day between two thunderstorms. The incessant rain began to get on our nerves. I cooked spaghetti, my comfort food par excellence, and after one or two plates I actually felt better. But then Victor wanted to watch the news, and I yelled, “No!” I put my hands over my ears like a child. We react completely differently: Victor feels less dependent on world events when he is in the know. He scans the news from different countries, and in between studies the history of the crisis zones that he is particularly concerned about in order to better understand the current situation. I, on the other hand, lean more towards the Vogel Strauss method. Sometimes it just gets too much for me. The totality of the world’s suffering crashes down on me like an individual wave on a surfer, bringing me to my knees, panting, pinning me to the ground. And so that evening, instead of watching the news, we watched an ancient rerun of a crime series that certainly did not deal with any of the current crises and problems. Victor poured me a glass of red wine. I relaxed.

It took quite some time before we realized that the sirens were not wailing from the TV, but from the street above. We looked out the window. There was an ambulance and a fire engine near our house. Meanwhile, it was raining again, and the turn signals seemed strangely distorted by the wet windows. We ran down the stairs and opened the door just as the paramedics wheeled the stretcher into the ambulance. And there stood Chrissy, the neighbor who used to walk her dog down our street every night. She was clearly shaking, the umbrella in her hand was shaking over her head like a striped jellyfish. “Right here,” she continued, pointing to the wet patch of pavement in front of our feet. “Right in front of your door!” The elderly woman apparently passed out on our doorstep. Chrissie didn’t know how long she’d been lying in the dark in the pouring rain when she spotted them. Almost no one went on foot in such weather. The extent of the homeless crisis in the city has also desensitized many residents. They are accustomed to walking past motionless figures. stepping over them. One of the paramedics waved at us and gave us a thumbs up. After all, the woman was still alive, we interpreted his gesture.

– Do you want to come in? I asked. – Warm you up? Chrissie shook her head. “I’m too upset.” I nodded. I knew what she meant. The idea that this woman could lie outside all night, in the rain, in the cold, in the dark, that she could die while we sat comfortably in the warmth, was too great. The only thing I could do little about the suffering and the state of the world. But I did not want to put up with the fact that this impotence extended to my door. When we went up the stairs, the TV in the living room was still on. I turned it off and got my raincoat. Until I could think of something better, I would at least take a little tour of my chambers before going to bed. Even if it will probably only help me.

Source: Blick