Life, Death and Scrambled Eggs

As if my wild ride through the car wash last weekend wasn’t enough… (see previous post)

A family of crows, who I suspect helped themselves to the all-you-can-eat salad bar at The Sizzler, took a royal dump on my front windshield. This morning. My husband insists I go straightaway to our own car wash here in the neighborhood. Compared to the crazy sci-fi one in the valley, “The Bubble Machine” is normal. And soon I am on my way to meet a dear friend for breakfast. Driving an extra, extra clean car.

The scrambled eggs are yummy, but that is beside the point. We talk philosophy. We talk about big issues like “why am I here? Like “where did you get that fabulous blouse?” Like “life and death.” Like…

Just then a gentleman a couple tables over starts gagging. He’s making desperate sounds and obviously cannot breathe. The waitress, who is eight months pregnant, rushes to his aid. But come on…picture that…

In a fraction of a second, a guy sitting alone behind us bolts from his chair and performs the Heimlich Maneuver. Twice. He bear hugs the guy, cinching his arms just under his ribs with such gusto that the man is lifted off his feet. And back to life.

It all happens so fast that I feel like I’m watching a movie. One that ends well. But the irony is not lost on my girlfriend or me. It’s funny, in an absurd kind of way, we talk about getting sick, about dying, about losing the people and the things we love. But talk is safe, it’s easy and I know there is a little oasis of denial deep down that whispers “yeah, but it won’t happen to me.”

Then we watch a guy almost die in front of the deli display. And another guy save his life. These two human beings are inexorably connected now. Perhaps in times of crisis like this, we have no choice, that the truth of our shared humanity trumps self-interest. And for those few seconds, the mystery that my friend and I love to talk about actually becomes visible.

And there are no words…