In the aftermath of the season’s first snow, Central Park glows.
It had been a glorious day – from dogs running free in the deep powder of the Great Lawn at sunrise and hundreds of families sledding on the slopes of Cedar Hill all afternoon to the view of dozens of snow men, women and sculptures catching the evening sun.
Now, night is falling, and the crowds have cleared.
What remains is mostly broken sleds, empty pizza boxes and water bottles, maintenance and security crews.
And, beneath a grove of pines, seemingly besotted and without bearings, unable to see or speak clearly, stumbling when she tries to stand…one woman.
And, making his way towards her, weighed down with scavenged bits of food, fabrics and discarded sections of the Sunday Times, one seemingly homeless man….
She tries to say something to him…either with a severe speech impediment or in a language he can’t understand.
With questionable motive, he picks up her purse from the picnic table and begins rifling through it — camera, calendar, cell phone, cash, credit cards….
She musters enough strength to elbow him in the chest, grab her wallet back and flash her !MEDICAL ALERT CARD! like it was some badge of courage.
“I have myasthenia gravis,” it says in bold letters, red and black, ”a disease that can make me so weak that I may have difficulty standing or speaking….Sometimes these symptoms are mistaken for intoxication. If I appear to need help, please contact my physician or hospital immediately.”
Now the man is conflicted. He seems to be in utter shock, to hover somewhere between criminal intent and genuine caring.
He pauses, picks up an abandoned blanket, puts it around her shoulders, offers food and drink, thinks for a minute, seems confused about the calling the contacts on her card, sits at the picnic table and begins to cry.
She sits next to him and cries also.
Some time goes by.
Then, the man seems to take heart, has hatched a plan:
“How many fingers am I holding up?” he asks, making the sign that doubles for “peace” and “victory.”
She also holds up two, and he seems pleased.
He touches his index finger to his nose.
She does the same.
Next, he begins reciting poetry:
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a….”
She fills in the next word, barely audible, “patient…”
He continues:
“Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats….”
Then, he spies a police officer out of the corner of his eye and flags him down.
The NYPD officer in his Interceptor is immediately on the scene…was, in fact, already on his way there…..
“What have we here?” he asks. “A drunk and a derelict? Or is there another way you want to explain it?”
The woman gestures to herself — “Endy Ubit” — hands the police officer her medical card, points to somewhere just beyond the perimeter of park, and says, incoherently, emphatically, drooling slightly, “Om.”
The officer looks perplexed, and motions to the man: “And you, Tarzan…under arrest?”
Endy shakes her head “No. Ero!”
“Zero?” The officer is trying hard to understand. Endy fishes in her purse for pen and paper, and holds up this sign: “Hero.”
The man formerly suspected of stealing her purse seems surprised, but tries the word on for size: “Hero… Yes, I suppose so!”
“And that makes me…..?” asks the officer.
She holds up the sign again:
“Hero.”
They fall silent, stand in a circle.
Blare and flash of sirens approach.
“An ambulance?” asks the man.
“And a squad car,” says the officer.
“Om only?!” pleads Endy, who both men are almost starting to understand.
Medics assess Endy’s condition while the man undergoes a background check.
After some gallows humor and a little laughter, the cars leave, sirens off.
“Om only,” says the officer.
With Endy propped up in the middle, both men see her safely home.
At the doorstep:
“Om now,” offers Endy.
“You saw the “ero” in us,” says the gentleman.
“There’s got to be a name for that,” says the officer.
In fact, there is!
“UnderWoman,” says Endy, bowing her head respectfully, ducking inside.
It is a name she had bestowed upon herself only recently — in tribute to her relatively new “disability;” in honor of her lifelong ability to see and bring out the best in self and others; and in celebration of her talent for making fun, even if only of herself, in the face of it all….
It is the first time she has uttered the name aloud.
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[...] while Brian and the officer had once “dropped her at the door,” she hopes / believes he has forgotten what door it is. She is still unsure where or how he lives, [...]
[...] then, the gentleman from “mysasthenia gravis night out” comes running over — enthusiastic, but a little bit [...]
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