They cut his jacket off.

No time to worry about zippers.  The human body holds five quarts of blood, and he was losing all of his on the grey concrete of that parking lot.

Bleeding out.

And bleeding inside, too.  I learned about that later, when the doctor came by to ask me if I knew of anyone close to him who should be notified.

Damage to the right lung, liver and diaphragm, his gallbladder’s gone, and his heart kept trying to quit on the operating table.  The doctor said the human body can only withstand so much.

I heard a nurse ask the doctor if she should call a social worker.

For me.

The doctor corrected her.  Partners, yes, but not in the way she thought.  Police officers.  Colleagues.  Not a lover.  Not a spouse.

“No worries.  He’s a cool customer,” the doctor said.

I was.

I called his mother, and his aunt.  Didn’t know where to find his brother, and didn’t worry about it.  I took care of the paperwork.  And when all that was done, I pulled a chair up to the window of the ICU and tried to imagine life without him.

The human body…

Alone.

~end~