Spittle sprays forcefully from his mouth and he gesticulates like a manic mop.
Quite impressive for being in handcuffs. I too am cuffed but choose to remain still. De-
cades of daily meditation enable me to do this with ease. Two police officers are
with him, not more than fifteen feet away. An officer also stands next to me. He
appears disinterested, except for the hand on his gun. I instinctively know that if I
remain still, his interest will not pique. A fourth officer questions my fellow bus riders.
He has been instructed to find witnesses.
Four officers in this situation is overkill.
"You need to calm down so we can determine what happened here," one of the
officers says to him.
And I use the word "him" with hesitant disgust. He is a vile creature. His hair pro-
trudes in greasy globs and his face has visited neither soap or razor in days. Filthy pants
and sweatshirt appear to be wrestling with him. His demeanor is indicative of a
maladjusted mind and a sick soul.
As I watch and listen to the interaction between the three of them, I see many spirits
floating around and through him. Most of them are dark and malevolent. If I
were not accustomed to seeing them, I would either scream or vomit. The first time I
saw them, as a child, I felt such a combination of awe and fear, that I wet myself
and did not realize it until an hour later. I surreptitiously glance around at the crowd.
Seeing no vomit or urine, it is apparent no one else can see them.
I expected as much.
There are a myriad of spirits blending around and within me, as well. Beautiful,
benevolent entities who are with me all of the time. They guide me through life and I have
learned to listen to them. As a result, my life is content.
"Did he hit or kick or shove you? Did he threaten you with a weapon?" the larger off-
icer asks with a hint of impatience.
"No!" he yells.
People startle at the panic in his voice.
"He looked at me. He tried to kill me with his eyes!"
The police officers exchange a quick glance and slightly roll their eyes. One
of them walks over to me. After asking for my name, date of birth, social security
number, address, phone number, place of employment and underwear size, he finally gets
to the point.
"Tell me what happened here, sir."
I take a deep breath, then proceed to speak in a calm, even voice.
"I was waiting for my bus home from work, as I do every week day, when he started
shouting. He pointed at me and made derogatory remarks about my suit and brief case.
He screamed obscenities and yelled repeatedly for me to stop looking at him. I ignored
and avoided him. In conjunction with his screaming, he eventually kicked over that
garbage can, punched light posts and spit at the air. It was at this point, that you
arrived and stopped him."
The officer who had been questioning people, joined us.
"Sir, that's what these people say, too. This man didn't even speak to him. Much
less threaten him."
The officer standing next to me is instructed to remove my handcuffs. I resist the
temptation to rub my wrists. Cops take joy in knowing they have caused pain.
"We apologize for this inconvenience, sir. Have a nice evening."
The putrid man sees the cuffs removed from me and immediately returns to agitation.
"What the hell are you doing?? You can't just let him go! He tried to kill me! If you
let him go, he will keep killing people. Please, you have to believe me!"
Spit and sweat are flying and I can smell his desperation. Cops escort him by his
elbows to a squad car as he writhes and squirms.
"We are taking you to county hospital, where they can help you," an officer tells him.
"But you don't understand! I don't need help. I just need to live!!"
The agony in his voice sends visible shivers through the crowd.
As the cop opens the car door, the man collapses and his head cracks open on the
sidewalk. Blood and brain matter slowly ooze and form a macabre halo around him.
Gasps of shock and horror resound through the bus riders. Strangers, who before now
had not even spoken to one another, clutch each other in desperate comfort. The cops dart
a quick glance at me. They are cautious not to make eye contact.
I am feeling slightly rattled myself as my timing was a bit off. Typically, my victims
do not die in public and particularly not in front of cops. None of this drama would have
occurred had the dead man not had awareness and knowledge. He probably would have
died alone in a roach infested room and not been found for days. In the twenty years
since I discovered my gift, he is only the third who knew what was happening. The vast
majority of people are too caught up in ego and materialism to even consider the idea that
they will die…much less within hours.
I breathe deeply and regain my serenity. I then place my attention on the parade of
busses along the mall that have been seriously delayed due to the emergency vehicles.
As I silently wait for the bus that will finally take me home, I notice the dead man's
spirit hovering nearby. It appears clean and content. Then it vanishes.
As the ambulance fades into the streets, I see a woman in a window of a bus that is
passing by. The intense beauty of her spirit holds me captive and takes my breath away.
Her deep violet eyes meet mine and I feel a warmth and love unlike anything I have ever
felt before. I want, with an aching desire, to be her soul mate and I pray that I will see her
again tomorrow. We hold each other's gaze until the movement of the bus no longer
permits it.
Suddenly my stomach clenches and I reflexively double over in pain. The inside of my
head feels like it is being shredded. Sweat bubbles from every pore and my lips and tongue
are dry as cremated remains.
I will not be alive tomorrow.
End
EYE CONTACT by April Williams
