Part 22 (2/2)
”Rosie's always fine.”
”What do you mean, always?”
He stood up with his bag, turning away from the woman. ”Rosie here is what we call a 'frequent flier.' She fakes heart attacks, then tells people to call 911.”
I looked at the woman, who seemed oblivious to our talking about her, then back at the paramedic. ”Why would she do that?”
”Because she can,” he said sharply. ”It's a rush for her. She gets a lot of attention and feels powerful that we all have to come running. And every time we do, it costs the taxpayers five grand.”
”You're kidding me.”
”I wish I were.”
”Can't you do something about it?”
His eyebrows rose. ”Like what? You tell me. Even if we knew it was her, if we didn't respond, some ambulance chasing lawyer would sue the city. The worst part is, last week while we were playing her game, a man on the other side of town had a real heart attack. Some bystanders kept him alive for nineteen minutes, four minutes short of what it took us to get to him.”
”You're telling me that she killed him.”
”We can't say that for sure, but he sure as h.e.l.l would have had a better chance of living if we'd been there.”
I turned back and looked at the woman with disgust. ”Did you know that? This game you play cost a man his life.”
She scowled at me. ”You think just because I'm poor I'm not ent.i.tled to the same care everyone else is?”
”This has nothing to do with rich or poor,” I said angrily. ”It has to do with need.”
”It has to do with crazy,” the other paramedic said.
”I have problems,” the woman said.
”Clearly,” I replied. ”You're an awful person.”
She just stared at me, her mouth gaping like a fish on land. I went back and got my groceries, then left the store.Drama aside, the rest of the afternoon was decent walking as Festus gave way to more rural landscape. Physically, I felt better than I had the day before, giving me hope that perhaps the worst was over. As night fell, I reached the Good News Church, a golf course, and Mary's Market, where I stopped for hot coffee. I pitched my tent and camped in a gully on the side of the road.
Every time I thought about that woman at Walmart, I wanted to slap her.
CHAPTER Eighteen
We cannot enslave others without enslaving a part of ourselves.
Alan Christoffersen's diary
I had set up my tent on a slight incline and woke the next morning with a crick in my neck, which I tried to release by cracking it, but it didn't help much.
I walked back to Mary's Market and bought some yogurt, coffee, and a giant homemade blueberry m.u.f.fin. I sat on the curb outside the store and ate my breakfast, then set out for the day.
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