Too Little or Too Much
This morning, as Mike dropped me off at the T station, I heard blood-curdling screams coming from the car in front of us. I rolled my eyes at first, imagining yelling kids and a flustered mom and turned to walk to the station. But then I heard a woman’s voice very clearly screaming:
“Somebody HELP ME!”
So while trying to look as nonchalant as possible, I grabbed my cell and dialed 911.
The state police helpfully forwarded me to the locals. I stared at the license plate and memorized it. I told the police exactly what I heard, and what I was seeing. What I was seeing was a man repeatedly getting in and out of a woman’s car. Opening and closing doors. Opening the driver’s door, the passenger’s, the driver’s, the passengers. And occasionally I heard her just scream.
I gave my best description of the vehicle, of the man, of his clothes, of his hair, of everything I could see. I couldn’t see her. I couldn’t see where that terrified voice was coming from. I couldn’t even answer, “White, black, or hispanic?” I just watched and reported.
They said they’d send someone. This was just as he was finally walking away, carrying his backpack. She peeled away back into traffic. I gave my name and number, not knowing if I really should.
So I’m stuck in a haze of wondering. Did I do too much? Did I do too little? Should I have walked away? Should I have approached the car? Should I have left my name? I don’t know. I can’t know what was happening. I just knew that she screamed for help and I … I couldn’t do NOTHING. I did the best I can. That’s all I can do.
I really hope she’s okay.