"Come on, Frankie." I tug on the leash again, but Frankie pulls back just as hard. I swear she's grown five pounds since yesterday. There's no way I could carry her down the street. It doesn't matter because Frankie tugs on her leash, intent to follow after Spencer, and the fabric strap rips. Free to do as she pleases, Frankie sprints in the other direction.
"Frankie!" I yell at the large, dark dog as she twists and turns between people's legs. "Crap. Crap. Crap."
I push my way through the crowd, my speed hindered by the sheer number of people. I can't lose Spencer’s dog. There's no way he'd forgive me.
The crowd is thick, making my progress slow, but I’m determined to get somewhere. With my elbows out and my head down, I slowly inch forward and continue yelling Frankie’s name, adding to the noise and commotion.
Three feet in front of me, an older gentleman spills forward. His hands stretch out to catch his fall, and he lands hard on the concrete. No one in the crowd stops, instead choosing to continue pushing and running around his fallen body. He blocks traffic, and before the crowd has time to fill the space, I reach him.
Doing my best to shield his body from the onslaught of people vying to get by, I grab onto his elbow when he stands.
"Are you okay?" I ask, even as I see the small line of blood dripping from his scraped palm. "Here, this way."
Turning my body sideways, I do my best to steer him off the sidewalk into a little alley between two stores.
"Oh, thank you, young lady." He leans up against the brick building as his body trembles.
"Take a minute to gather your breath." I monitor his breathing the best I can from my position on the sidewalk. Besides the small scrape on his palm, which appears to have quit bleeding already, he doesn’t look anything worse than a little shaken up.
"The people were pushing and yelling. I didn't think I'd make it. Thank you." He stands to his full height.
"No problem. Let's go to the other end and see if we can get you back to your car."
"I came with my grandson, and I'm sure that's where he’ll meet me."
We walk on the short brick alley to the other side together. Each step takes us further from the action and noise on Main Street. When we reach the end of the street, a ray of sunshine breaks through the common winter clouds. The man turns to the left and starts a slow walk down the sidewalk—this one at his own pace without the crush of people.
"A fucking Band-Aid isn't going to do anything, you numbskull," the pissed off and irritated voice travels through the alley. Behind me, two men lumber their way down—one supported by the other, his arm wrapped under his shoulders. A large, dark red circle—one that can only be blood—stains his kneecap and one leg of his jeans.
"Do you need help?" I ask, closing the distance between us.
The two men stop walking. "No, I just thought I'd stand here and bleed to death."
"Come on, Dominic, the van’s at the end of the alley," The young one trying to help him down the last few feet of the alley keeps moving.
The two men stagger by me, and I turn, following. "I'm a nurse. You should really let me look at your leg. I can help before you get to the hospital."
"You're a nurse?" His eyes travel me from top to bottom, questioning.
Why is it so hard to believe I'm a nurse? Don't I look helpful? "Yes, and you really should let me look at your leg.”
The younger one stops, forcing the older one to walk. "A nurse can be handy. Let's get him to the van and you can look at his leg there." The two of them share a look and then continue hobbling their way to the end of the ally.
"Here, let me help." I slip my arm around the hurt, older gentleman named Dominic. Using my strength, I take over some of his weight. From how slowly the blood is pooling, it probably isn’t a cut to his femoral artery, which means he’s not in danger of bleeding out in the alleyway, but the two squabbled for so long we’ve wasted precious seconds. I could have stopped the bleeding by now.
At the end of the alley, a large, white van idles on the side of the road, the passenger door open. I have no idea how I missed this. At first glance, I blanch. It’s like one of those vans kidnappers are always using in movies. The kind decked out with a carpet and mattresses, and the occasional cooler full of dead body parts. In my hesitation, I fall a step behind the two men but am pulled forward by their momentum.
"Oh God, my leg," he complains, reminding me I’m a professional and have a job to do.
“Get in the back of the van.” The younger one heads to the van.
“The back?” I question.
No one stops walking. “He can lay down there.”
Something in my gut wakes up and tells me to pay attention.
My steps slow.
