I've Got a Story to Tell

I've always said that every little choice you make can alter your life experiences considerably. As with all things this story begins with a simple choice to sit on the patio at a restaurant rather than sitting inside.

We were waiting for friends and I was hungry, so we chose to sit at a Thai-style grill restaurant on College street. The lady said "Sit where you want," and being that the patio was empty, I opted to sit facing the street and do some people watching. It was a warm night, the kind where it was just perfectly comfortable to sit outside, and as the sun set, the city went about making the transition from daytime metropolis into nighttime hotspots. The other seats on the patio were quickly filled.

The restaurant is on a strip of restaurant/grill places and is situated almost right next to another bar/grill patio. On the next patio were a group of middle-aged latin men of different origins and they appeared to be having a heated discussion. My knowledge of spanish, while certainly not rudimentary, was not enough to know what they were talking about.

We ordered drinks, a string of various iced teas and my cocktail, and some food. The waitress set about making our orders and we talked.

At some point, my peripheral vision caught my attention. The argument at the next patio had come to a head, and one man had stood up and punched the other squarely in the head. The other men had managed to separate them; they did that classic testosterone dance. Both men wanting to attack but being barred, making mocking attempts to hit the other.

As I said before the men were middle-aged and latino. The attacker was slim, easily 50, with a belly that betrayed that this was not his first night of beers. Though my knowledge of latin culture is limited, I could easily guess that this man was from the Dominican republic. This conjecture is based solely on the fact that almost every Dominican (from the republic) that I know comes in the same deep dark chocolate hue, reminisant of the slave ancestors that were brought to the island generations ago. He was obviously upset at the other man, and at some point my spanish knowledge recognised him saying something about hitting the other man in the head.

The other man, the attackee, at that point made an almost comical attempt to back-kick the other man, his stout legs barely bending at the knee, confirming for everyone that he was in fact already drunk. He was a different type of latino, very broad; not just in frame, but even his features were broad, his nose and eyes wide. These characteristics I've always associated with Hondurans, based only on this one women I used to know, who easily could have been his sister.

As I said, the Dominican hit the Honduran, and so the others in the group gestured for him to go away, which he did hurriedly. I imagine they must all live in the area, none of them were really dressed for a night on the town. It appeared that they were just relaxing on a warm day at their friendly neighbourhood bar. The men who remained shook their heads and patted the Honduran on his back, a manly gesture I interpret as "what the heck was his problem." The Honduran said in english "I don't know" many times.

My friends and I returned our attention to our own patio. The drinks had arrived, and people sampled drinks they hadn't ordered, and chatted in the warm twilight air.

Some time passed, when my peripheral vision noted something coming with purpose from the other direction. A quick look to my left confirmed that the Dominican had returned and as he marched, quite determined, by our patio, we all noticed that he was carrying something: a 2x4 and a brick. I immediately knew what was going to happen, and looked over in a panic at the Honduran who didn't see it coming. The Dominican pounced on him, passing others on the same patio, and hit the Honduran over the head with the 2x4 in his right hand.

I know that's what he did, but I didn't see it. I watched in horror as the large piece of wood came down, but at the last moment, I turned away. I heard it come down a second time and yelling coming from all directions. The other men on the patio managed to pull the Dominican off, just as his left hand began raising the brick.

The Honduran jumped out of his seat, holding his head, his facial expression conveyed what I imagined him to be feeling. It's similar to how one feels, for the first few seconds, when they stub their toe, the pain so excruciating for that all you can do is hold the affected area and wait for the pain to subside. In fact, he looked as though he might cry.

As this point, I sprung into action. I asked my friend to hand me a phone and noting that no one else seemed to be on their phone, I called 911. When the emergency operator came on the phone I hurriedly explained the situation. What else could I say? I exclaimed: "a man just hit another man in the head witha 2x4!" She told me the police would come and did I think we needed an ambulance. Through a series of questions she determined from me that the Honduran was 50-ish, not bleeding, was indeed conscious and talking, but she sent the ambulance anyway, to my relief.

The operator also asked me about the assailant, the Dominican. Again, through a series of well-trained questions she determined from me that he was about 5'7", mid-50s, medium build about 175 lbs, wearing a dark blue shirt and blue jeans, and a blue hat with a red insignia. My friends supplied some details, where I couldn't fill things in. The operator was patient with me, but had to tell me several times, to speak slower and directly into the phone. Someone pointed out that the Dominican hadn't gone far, he had crossed the street a bit further down and was sitting on a park bench, 2x4 still in hand. I conveyed this information to the operator.

All the while, I kept a watchful eye on the Honduran, making sure he didn't collapse. The operator thanked me and the phone call was over. In the distance we heard sirens. I got out of my seat, and went over to the Honduran who was standing with a bewildered look on his face. I told him that I hoped he was ok with me calling the ambulance because he was hit in the head, and though it probably wasn't serious, he should be checked out. He appeared to understand, but his response was incoherent.

At that point the ambulance arrived, they pointed at me as the one who called, and I directed their attention to the Honduran. They began assessing him and I went back to my seat. Without me noticing, my food had arrived. I couldn't really eat, my hands shook as I tried to appreciate my lemongrass chicken and steamed rice. I know the food was delicious, but I couldn't pay it the attention it deserved.

Someone from the patio kept an eye on the Dominican, reporting he was still there every few minutes until the police arrived. They came out of their cars, and asked around, eventually an officer made her way to our patio. We told her what little else we knew, and that we didn't know what they were arguing. One of our friends pointed to the Dominican, and the policewoman asked us quite clearly if that was "the bad guy." It was comical, but the comedy of it registered only later. She thanked us and she and her partner took their cruiser to the other side of the street.

The Honduran went with the ambulance. I was glad about this, I really wanted him to get checked out. My worst nightmare would have been doing nothing and hearing that a man had died after being hit in the head. Nonetheless, my friends had to reassure me that I had done the right thing by getting involved. Years of living in Scarborough, a place where one rarely gets involved had frightened me.

The police car remained a long time across the street with the Dominican. The police took the 2x4 and placed it in the police car. At some point when we were not looking they loaded him into the car as well, and when we looked back, the police car was gone.

As with any city, once the sirens and lights were gone, it returned to its business, almost unaffected by what had happened. I asked the waitress to pack up my almost untouched meal. We paid our bill and left.

I still can't believe that this happened right in front of us. It's the only time I ever remember being witness to such a thing. I'm sure I'll tell this story over and over again in the next few days.