The Other Shoe

It was a lazy Sunday morning in the middle of the long Presidents’ Day weekend. We already had tickets to see the Oscar Nominated Short Films — Animation at 12:50pm and Live Action at 3:10pm — at the newly renovated NuArt Theater on Santa Monica Blvd. about two miles from our house.

Going into this particular Sunday, I’d walked at least two miles each day for 2,476 consecutive days. I wanted to walk to the NuArt to extend my streak. Suzy wanted to walk with me, but when I was ready to get going, she was just hopping into the shower. She told me to go on ahead. She would catch up.

I left the house at 12:05pm. It was a sunny, clear, and warm afternoon. As I walked, I got a notification about a credit card charge from Bird. This confirmed my assumption that Suzy would be traveling to the movie theater by electric scooter. Once upon a time, Suzy was an avid skateboarder; I knew she could handle herself on a scooter.

While waiting for a light to turn green (probably at Pico), I checked in on Suzy’s progress using the “Find My” app on my iPhone. It looked like Suzy was on her way. When I checked again a few minutes later, Suzy was just a few blocks behind me at the intersection of Sawtelle and Olympic.

It took about 32 minutes for me to walk from home to the NuArt. I arrived in front of the theater at about 12:37pm. At 12:35pm, when the car hit Suzy in front of Killer Noodle and across from Big Boi, I was still walking just three or four blocks ahead — likely passing two auto repair shops and a grief support center.

As an aside: the universe has a pretty dark sense of humor. Throwing a car at Suzy to inflict a traumatic brain injury in front of a business called “Killer Noodle” seems a bit on the nose. It’s the kind of pun that would feel at home in a movie like Airplane! — not something that happens in real life.

Once I arrived in front of the NuArt, I exchanged some text messages with a friend. We talked about Richard Belzer who had passed away earlier that day and my plans to check out the renovated NuArt with Suzy.

After a few minutes, it seemed like Suzy should be getting close. I took a peek around the corner. Nothing seemed obviously unusual. I continued to wait, but it was not long before the sirens came: police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances.

Lots of them.

I watched them come down Santa Monica Blvd. and turn onto Sawtelle. They all gathered around this one spot about half a mile away. I checked the “Find My” app. Suzy’s location seemed to be in the exact spot where all the first responders were congregating.

I texted Suzy at 12:45pm: “You doing all right?”

Of course, Suzy didn’t respond. Maybe something blocked her path and she took a detour. She was on scooter. Pretty hard to respond while scootering, right? But her location was not really changing much. I started walking back down Sawtelle to investigate.

A few minutes later, I reached the police perimeter. On “Find My,” Suzy’s location appeared to have moved to the corner of La Grange and Sawtelle, the first intersection north of the collision. The weirdness of the “Find My” app and the rather intimidating police blockade convinced me to poke around La Grange. I looked at every face and every phone trying to spot Suzy or one of her devices. Of course, I had no luck.

Suddenly, the “Find My” app indicated movement! Her pin was headed towards the NuArt! But then, it went past the theater. Did she get turned around? Was she lost? Her position kept changing rapidly. She was in Westwood. Then, she was at UCLA. Well before her location indicator settled over the Medical Center, I already knew.

The sidewalk on the western side of Sawtelle remained open to pedestrian traffic. I walked to the scene of the crash. I saw Suzy’s purple Newton shoe in the street. I asked one of the uniformed police officers for information. He instructed me to contact UCLA.

I walked a couple blocks — repeating the mantra “this is not how our story ends” — until I found a relatively quiet spot to make a phone call. I reached a social worker at UCLA who asked me some questions about Suzy to validate that I knew her. The social worker said she would get back to me.

I was almost home when the social worker called me back to confirm Suzy was in the emergency department at UCLA Medical Center. I got home, took a breath, got cleaned up a little, then drove to UCLA.

The doctor in the emergency department did her best to prepare me to see Suzy. I don’t remember much of what she said except it ended with “she is very sick.” The term “sick” — a term I associate more strongly with illness like cold, flu, or cancer — struck me as both an odd word choice while being wholly accurate.

By the time I saw her, Suzy had been cleaned up by the emergency medical team and was minutes away from being carted off to surgery to stabilize her broken left femur. She was not covered in blood or gore. What stood out to me was her absolute vulnerability. A whole team of people was working on her, attempting to save her life, and she was essentially limp and unresponsive.

Not long after I got in to see Suzy in the emergency department, she was wheeled away for surgery. A nurse approached me with a large, clear plastic bag equipped with a drawstring. Printed on one side of the bag in all capital letters were the words “PATIENT BELONGINGS.” These were Suzy’s things. Her fanny pack. Three bracelets (one destroyed). A pair of socks.

And a single purple Newton running shoe.