 |
| The Allan Gardens can also be pleasant: part of this year's Christmas display. |
I live in downtown Toronto, so I've followed blood trails from time to time. When I see them, I wonder what misfortune befell the person who left behind bright red medallions on the sidewalk. I never know if it was a blow to the nose, or a cut with a knife...
Until now.
On Friday the 28th, while Bruce visited his dad, I headed out to see "Vice" at the Varsity Cinema at 55 Bloor West.
Walking on the east-west diagonal path through the Allan Gardens, I saw in the distance two people fighting. A woman about my height and weight was having the better time of it with a smaller, lighter man. She had him by his hair and was pounding him with great big haymaker punches.
I will walk by a lot of nonsense in this neighbourhood, but not fights. So, when I got to where they were - by three benches smack dab in the middle of the park - I stopped and called to them and said I'd call the police if they didn't break it up.
At this point, the woman had the man pinned on his back on the northernmost bench, his head very close to the ground. I'd distracted them from their fight and it looked for an instant like they would stop.
Just then, a man sitting drinking a Labatt's Black Ice beer on the middle bench, stood, took a step toward the two, lifted his right leg bent at the knee and with truly shocking force, stomped on the small man's head.
That ended the fight. I yelled at the man with the beer who, I think, up until that moment had not been aware I was there.
The female combatant came at me, protesting her innocence and lack of agency in the fight. I ignored her, fished my phone out of my pocket and called 911.
The guy who had been kicked had a three or four inch gash on his left temple and was bleeding profusely. He was conscious but seemed stunned by the force of the blow.
For the record, I was not alone. At least three other people, two men and an older woman, were in the immediate vicinity of the fight while it was happening. They all saw the helpless small man get his head stomped by the guy with the beer.
They were also all gone, the perpetrators, the witnesses - except for the older woman - by the time I connected with the 911 operator.
I told the operator I needed an ambulance at the Allan Gardens.
She asked me what the address was.
Good grief.
The response of the paramedics was impressively swift. Mere minutes I'm sure. While they were on their way, and while the other witnesses fled, another crowd of people joined in, a couple of whom had some first aid training and helped the man while I conveyed instructions from the 911 operator.
One woman with a small dog came up behind me and demanded information - what happened to him; is he hurt; how did this happen - in the same tone and timbre as the tiny middle aged woman who was desperate to know if I was all right the night I took a tumble on Yonge Street.
I lost patience with the woman because she made it hard to hear the 911 guy. I told her I couldn't answer all her questions. The 911 guy thought I was talking to him. He said he needed to ask me questions so they could help the assault victim. I said no, no, no I wasn't talking to you. It'd have been funny if it weren't so grim.
The paramedics were two strapping tall young women, calm and competent. They had the guy's head bandaged so fast I didn't even see them do it. They put a neck brace on him, which he did not react well to. He was struggling with it, trying to take it off, saying he couldn't breathe. Another young woman, just a civilian in the crowd I think, stepped in and started talking to the man, assured him the paramedics were there to help him, asked him what his name was. Incredibly, he calmed down, laid down on the gurney and let them get him ready to go into the van.
I'd hung up the 911 call when the paramedics arrived and watched from a distance as they prepared to take the man away. A couple of other emergency response types had shown up, one of whom had a supervisory air about him. I went up to him, said I was the one who'd made the call, and was it OK if I left.
He said, "sure" and then he said "thank you."
"You're welcome," I said, grateful after all the shock and upset for the small, civil exchange.
Thanks for reading!
Happy New Year!
Karen
No comments:
Post a Comment