Thursday, 20 November 2003 | Colin

"You tend to attribute more power to authority figures than is there and give over to these figures an ability to 'see through' you—which also is not apt to be there."

Tonight I walked through the subway turnstiles, exiting the station just as the alarm bleated the familiar staccato bursts to announce a coming train. My first thought was, "I didn't steal anything, I swear."

I've never stolen anything, or at least not that I can recall.

...

Several weeks ago I re-met Colin, the guy who saw me crumpled on the bridge and asked whether I was okay and sat with me after I shook my head no. We met for coffee for the sake of it, and we talked about anything other than the accident for the first hour. Eventually, as if we'd arrived after a long drive, we reconstructed the events from our two perspectives.

He was about like I remembered: long, blond dreadlocks, young, friendly, concerned. He admitted that, at the time, he didn't really know what he was doing, but felt it was important to pretend as if he did.

My accident didn't seem that bad, he said, but only because the week before he'd rescued another girl, on another bridge. Only she was unconscious and inhaling gulps of blood from a pool she'd created. When Colin approached her, a guy at the scene announced his defense: "It was her fault!" he repeated, answering all of Colin's questions with the same four words. Colin, being the expert bike accident rescuer, insisted that the guy hang around until the cops came and that they call an ambulance.

My accident, he said, was much easier.