The protesters cheered, and the young man turned to sprint back to his frozen bottle larder. He took two flying steps, but when his foot hit a bit of discarded trash, he lost his balance, twisted his ankle, and fell screaming in pain, face down on Second Avenue.
The cheering shifted to notes of mourning.
The policeman, the man who had received the bottle to the head, lowered his protective gear, broke ranks, and rushed to the protester’s side. On his knees beside the young man, he motioned for a uniformed Emergency Medical Technician to join him. Together they performed emergency first aid in the middle of the street.
With an ace bandage wound tightly around his ankle, the protester, appreciative, apologetic, and crying, shuffled back toward his friends. The policeman and EMT accepted his thanks and moved back to their positions.
It was a normal protest night on Planet Earth. God was there.
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Dick Duerksen writes from the Pacific Northwest.© 2017 - 2023 When People Are Kind. All rights reserved. Click here for content usage information.