A Human Story

http://abc7chicago.com/news/woman-killed-in-michigan-avenue-bus-crash-idd/763762/

 I spent yesterday walking through Chicago. Happy to be bathing in the man-made urbanity of a bustling city. The whole experience was intensely visceral and made me feel alive from head to toe. It was thrilling to be a part of the ambient energy of the tens of thousands of Chicagoan human pedestrians on the move. It felt like maybe summer was finally in full swing. It was delightful to just let the momentum of these humans carry me around town. I was alone, but not. I was perfectly content spending time in the presence of strangers, occasionally taking photos of architecture and oddities. I had overheard conversations in no less than 10 language. The time passed quickly and it was now 5:30. The rush-hour frenzy was well underway. Thousands of humans had exited their massive glass buildings and were streaming onto the streets. Like the tide rushing in, an ocean consisting of individual drops of humans had completely enveloped me. This living wave of humankind had spilled out onto the streets. Each drop, each human individual had distinct value. Each of us, the center of our own universe. I was so content among this sea of faces. Fellow humans - living, loving, moving, commuting, communing.  

As I approached Michigan Ave, the Google Map bot spat into my single ear bud. “Approaching Lake Street. Turn right in 100 feet”.  My eyes tracked up to scan Lake Street. Something out of my peripheral vision struck a discord. The flow of cross traffic moving left to right at the intersection had shifted. It was barely perceptible, but the forward momentum of the group I was in slowed a slight half-step and took in a collective deep breath. 100 feet in front of me, my fellow humans were meeting a dinosaur-sized vehicle head on. Chicago Transit Authority had lost a bus. It was out of control, and had just careened into what surely was a mass of ‘us’. I was too close to see the cause. The bus had erased the evidence from view. I hung suspended in the instant between the speed of light and the speed of sound. I knew people were under that bus. Then the wall of sound hit me. A single scream. Metal on metal. The unforgettable thumpity, thumpity of heavy rubber tires running over obstacles. The monster finally met something it could not run over and hurked to a stop, smashing into a stepped plaza with shops and outdoor dining.

A reverential hush fell over the crowd.  In a crescendo, that empty space was then filled. First with a chorus of screams. Then prayers mixed with expletives. I guess you could say that in a prayer? I never have, but who’s to say that up there, they don’t exactly care what sort of language we use, just so long as we stay close. It took a few seconds, but now each of us humans understood exactly what had happened. The bus was too big for any one of us to have an idea of the full extent of the damage.  Those who had just barely thrown themselves clear of the bus, now were looking at their own hands, checking them over to make sure they were still real.  This is a universal sign for “holy shit, am I dead? I can’t believe I’m not seriously hurt.” We all knew that there were too many of us in that space that the bus now occupied for there not to be one or two or an entire family, God forbid, underneath the dinosaur carcass.

People instinctively started to climb back under the bus to confirm what we all knew. A human was not there. An empty shell was. The bus had come to rest on one of us. Human bodies have their limitations. Even the full ocean of human drops would not be enough to lift this dinosaur. The intrepid souls reported back that it was a human woman whose heart and lungs and brain had all stopped functioning. This human certainly had value. Each of us immediately considered our own value. I wondered what languages she spoke. The loudest of the cries came from a street corner man. One of those special slightly eccentric humans who are perfectly comfortable standing on street corners. He knew this corner. He loved this corner. This is where is chose to stand and tap into the daily rush-hour energy.   

“She’s gone. She was just walking along and now she’s fucking gone.” 

I lifted my 50mm lens to snap a photo. The carnage. The focus. The framing. The lighting. The street corner man and his scream/prayer. The depth of field. Everything about the photo was perfect. This would surely make the front of the Chicago Sun-Times. I hesitated. The moment passed. It was just too raw to document. Too human for me to claim.  

I let the moment carry me across Michigan Ave onto Lake Street. Walking again felt like the only thing I could do. I was left with only questions. What just happened? What about the driver? When’s Father’s Day? Are humans unique in putting a premium on life not-yet lived? Are we the only species capable of hope? Am I doing what I want to be doing should this be my final walkabout? What corner would I stand on? What corner is she standing on?