The first few minutes, he kept it simple. Stay awake. Help is coming. You’re doing great. Squeeze my hand.
I could hear the sirens getting closer. Could hear the crowd murmuring. Someone said “is she dead?” Someone else said “get a better angle.”
The biker heard it too. He looked up at the crowd. I couldn’t see his face but I heard his voice change.
“Put the phones down,” he said. Not yelling. Just firm. Like a father who’s done asking. “She’s a human being. Put them down.”
Some people did. Most didn’t.
He turned back to me. His face blocked out the phones. Blocked out the buildings. Blocked out everything except his eyes. Gray-blue. Tired. Kind.
“Don’t look at them,” he said. “Look at me. Just me. That’s it.”
I looked at him.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
I mouthed it. Claire.
“Claire. That’s pretty. I’m Jack. Nice to meet you, Claire. Wish it was somewhere else.”
I tried to smile. My face wouldn’t cooperate.
“My hands are rough,” he said. “Sorry about that. I’m a mechanic. Twenty-six years. Never did learn how to keep them smooth.”
He was making small talk. On a street. In the middle of a city. While I was bleeding and people were filming and sirens were getting louder.
He was making small talk because he wanted me to stay conscious.
“You got kids, Claire?”
I squeezed his hand. Yes.
“How many? Squeeze for the number.”
Two squeezes.
“Two kids. That’s good. How old?”
I couldn’t squeeze for that. Too many numbers.
“That’s okay. Doesn’t matter. What matters is they need their mom to keep her eyes open right now. Can you do that for them?”
I squeezed.
“Good. That’s my girl.”
The sirens were closer. Maybe two blocks away.
“Almost here,” Jack said. “You’re doing so good. Stay with me.”
Then his voice changed. Got quieter. More personal. Like he’d been holding something back and couldn’t anymore.
“I need you to know something, Claire. I need you to know why I stopped.”
I looked at him.
