From the sidewalk, my son and I watched the car in the opposite lane slow and execute a three-point turn, evoking a distant memory of high school driver’s Ed. It had just gotten dark and somehow there was no one else on this stretch of 30th street which lay above a canyon and connected two trendy neighborhoods. The car rolled past us and parked inside the pylons which defined the bike lane. We watched, confused. A woman got out. I couldn’t see much in the hazy streetlight. She was maybe my son’s age, twenty-something, with dark hair and dark clothing. She came toward us, her eyes fixed downward. We looked down. At our feet, in the bike lane, lay a large raccoon. Motionless. No blood but surely dead. Its belly distended enough that I thought it could be a pregnant mother. She approached without words, her eyes fixed on the creature. I couldn’t tell if she registered our presence. “It’s dead,” I said as she got within social distance length. She made no response, walked to the creature, and touched it lightly with her foot. “Can we resuscitate it?” she said, her shaky words floating into the canyon. “It’s dead,” I said again. No cars passed and I looked at my son, his face still and fixed on the woman. She toed the raccoon again and repeated her question. “It sucks, but it wasn’t your fault, it’s very dark here,” my son said. Once more, she pushed at the animal, “Can we resuscitate it?” The pain of the last two years reverberated in her words. The lives lost, the constant fear, the times I would see my son and wonder if it was safe to hug him. Our country torn apart, its racist underbelly spilling its guts in plain sight. I imagined that the raccoon in the giving of its life could take it all. But the woman just stood, more pain piled on. I wanted to give her a hug. I worried she would bend down and try to revive the dead being. “Please,” I said, “it’s terrible, but best to leave alone.” She looked at me for the first time, her face blank. Then she turned and walked toward her car. “Are you okay to drive? Are you close to home?” I said to her back. My son and I looked at one another, unsure. She drove off. The dead raccoon lay at our feet. We continued walking over the canyon, the sound of an owl in the background.
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