It was a warm spring night, and the stands were full. The air had dirt suspended like the tension was would be. I was sitting with some friends and we were watching young men be valiant. Showing strength and courage and braving death.

I didn’t see it happen. It was too quick and I wasn’t paying attention. But quickly, two hundred pairs of eyes were in one place, the amount of undivided attention was threating to tear a hole in space.

He was just laying there crushed, devistated.

We were just sitting there crushed and devistated.

He wasn’t moving.

I rolled it around in my mouth, explored the feeling and the taste of the words. And the bitter words brought excitement. Like jumping off a cliff or graduating a class, I might move into the group of people who can say that they have. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

I might be able to say I saw someone die.

And I hoped that it wouldn’t be true. I willed him to get up, but at the same time excited that he might not.

He still wasn’t moving and the EMT was there.

Some how the waiting turned into bordom. It was all because he wasn’t really a person, he didn’t have a family who were going to be devistated with him gone. He didn’t have a future of any type, he was just a cut out piece of paper acting out a script in a play. Or we just thought that to avoid facing our own mortality.

But he does. He had a family that loves him. He is the same age as me. He is a real person and I thank God.

I thank Him that the man had his life and I still can’t say that I watched a man die.