It was a summer day in a tropical country. The oppressive sun coupled with the pollution had made the experience unbearable for the commuters. Irritability was in the air. I sat scooched to one side of the auto rickshaw, trying to avoid the sun, when my gaze locked with his. We exchanged a polite smile. I hardly ever spoke to him, even though just one wall separated our houses. The auto stopped. It was the elderly lady's stop. It took her a while to get down, arrange her sari and take her spectacles out. She was still to find the money to pay the driver. The driver, impatient, started yelling. As the lady walked away my neighbor asked the driver if 'Salt Lake' was on his route. I suppressed a groan. I had to get to my Table Tennis Class and this ride was taking forever. On getting an affirmative response, he started to sit down in the front seat of the auto, next to the driver. There wasn't any space in the back seat. The driver started to accelerate, even though my neighbor wasn't fully seated. But I said nothing. I did not ask the driver to wait. A pole hit my neighbor's leg. He groaned and yelled at the driver, but, we rode on. One year of a swollen right knee later, he finally got it operated. The operation went fine.
I was watching TV when I heard the screams. I rushed out of my house and entered my neighbors'. The man was turning blue, grasping tightly at a chair, gasping for air. His wife was calling the ambulance. His young children stood there watching, terrified. The man's mother and I helped him lie down and sprinkled water on his face, waiting for the ambulance to arrive.
He had had a heart attack. The blood had clot in his knees, stopping the flow to the brain. His hearts functionality decreased by 50%.
All the while I had said nothing. Kept quiet. If only I had said something, the 35 year old man would still be able to enjoy his life, exercise, jog, swim and holiday in the mountains like I heard his family discuss. The image of his face flashed in my mind and I started to sob uncontrollably. Maybe he would still be a vibrant man looking forward to his forties, hadn't it been for my silence. I haven't been able to look him in the eyes ever since. The elevator rides with him seem to take an eternity where I listen to my heart thumping loudly, like somebody's stretching it. The word 'Sorry', stuck in my throat, possibly forever.
This essay is very well-written, and it's a powerful story. The only thing is, I feel like they want you to take your experience a step further and elaborate on how it has impacted who you are. While I understand that you feel intensely guilty (even though few people would immediately suspect that his knee problems were preceding a heart attack, especially when he had it looked at/operated on by a doctor), I end this story wanting to say, "So... Now what?"
I'd like to offer a few suggestions for improvement:
1) I sat crouched to one side of the auto rickshaw...
2) All the while, I had said nothing.
3) I listen to my heart thumping loudly, like somebody's stretching it.
You may write following lines:
God bless his soul,
Still loved, still missed and very dear,
may he is soul rest in peace
May God rest his soul in peace
