Hit and run. It is an epidemic in Providence. People come here from poor countries looking for work. They have no intention of staying here and starting a new life, rather they are here for the money, most of which is sent back home. What little they keep for themselves is used for rent and food, if there is enough left over, a car. Often, there is no money for insurance or registration, and a drivers license is impossible. It is easier to drive away and hide, or abandon a cheap vehicle that is on the road illegally than face the consequences of their irresponsible actions. John and Regina were minding their business, driving on academy Avenue when another car hit them, forcing them into a utility pole. I arrived on scene, noted the particulars of the accident, immobilized John on a long board with a cervical collar and put him into the rescue. We moved him onto the bench seat and strapped him in. He said he was okay, but his neck hurt. His wife of fifty-three years, Regina was next. We put her on the stretcher, next to John and transported them to Miriam Hospital at their request. For us it was an average run, something we do every day. For John and Regina it was a major incident. I found out later that John had broken his neck. He was in a brace for six weeks.

Five months later I was called to a beautiful home on Benefit Street. An elderly person had fallen, the radio said. Sitting on the couch was an eighty-two year old female holding her head, small streams of blood dripping between her fingers. “What happened?” I asked. Her husband walked into the room. I looked at him, then her, then him again. “She saved my life,” the man said. “I was carrying the laundry down the stairs for her, I tripped and fell over the railing. If she didn’t stop me I would have been killed!” The woman smiled at her husband and said her head hurt. “It’s not every day a two-hundred and twenty pound man falls on you,” she said. I looked at the stairway where the accident happened. I couldn’t believe how lucky these two were. The man fell over a railing onto a landing, then tumbled down eight more steps, landing on his wife. When I got them into the truck, the man on the bench seat on a backboard, the woman on the stretcher next to him it hit me. “Haven’t we done this before…”