I just can't think about this sort of thing for very long.

Last Thursday, I left work, like I always do. I turned onto the onramp for 95 south, with three cars ahead of me and one or two behind. As I was starting to round the curve, I watched a guy on the offramp right next to us have his motorcycle slide right out from underneath him. He rolled and rolled and then came to a stop; his bike slid off into the grass.

The two cars in front of me that surely saw this sped past, as did at least one car behind me. I pulled to a stop on the side of the ramp and ran over -- I know no first aid, but I have a cell phone and the guy was hurt. Isn't that what you're supposed to do? Cars behind me on the onramp slowed as they passed, watching the pregnant lady huff over to the guy on the ground, and I have to say that while a couple of people stopped, most just stared and kept going.

Is it just me, or is that weird?

Anyway, I got to him, and he was moving and speaking coherently. Miracles of modern body armor, his jacket was shredded on the outside and his helmet was definitely the worse for wear. He himself seemed together, though, and not bleeding or awkwardly bent. I bent down; he asked me to call his wife. I called 911, and then called the number he gave me. Slowly, a few people came over. One said he was a nurse, one was a fellow motorcyclist who just finished recovering from his crash injuries a few months ago, and one just had a cell phone and wanted to help. They tended to the man, telling him he'd be okay and asking him not to move.

At the number he gave me was his mom, or possibly his wife's mom. I wasn't sure. It didn't matter. I asked for LaShawn, and the woman said she was out on a run. I told her the guy's name, said he seemed basically okay but injured, and gave her my cell number to give to his wife. She called me back a few minutes later, and I said the same thing to her. I think her voice dropped an octave. She had a strange timbre to her voice after that, like a quiet yowling cat, like her heart had sunk into the ground. I told her where we were, and she told me they lived around the corner on the base. At some point, I noticed that he had a clear plastic ID shield velcroed to the outside of his jacket, right on the breast where you'd put a HELLO MY NAME IS tag; it had his name, and his wife's name. The cop pulled up and took it off right away, as if he was accustomed to doing that sort of thing. At that point, the cop said he'd stay with the guy, and the four of us left.

I had the wife's "oh, GOD" voice in my head for the rest of the day. Everything seemed fragile; lean over one degree too far and before you know it, someone's making That Phone Call to your wife. I gave lots of hugs. I felt small but determined. I hoped he was okay. I hoped I was okay, too. I still can't stop seeing those first few gawking faces in SUVs, getting on the highway but taking a moment to stare at the one lady bent over the very still accident victim. Would they have stopped if I hadn't been there? I like to think so. But would they have?

This morning, I got a call from an unidentified number in the 781 area code. It was Luther, the guy, calling to thank me. I hadn't considered that of *course* he had my phone number, since his wife had called me. He was very polite, and a bit formal: he called me ma'am. Apparently, he broke his collarbone, but everything else was just bumps and scrapes. I told him I was very glad he was okay, and thanked him for letting me know. All I could see in my head was his ID velcroed to his chest, facing outward.

It's all so close.