The Man Who Collapsed

I was sitting in a coffee shop, working on my laptop when I heard a phrase which caused me to look up:
"Should we call a paramedic?"

I had been absorbed in finding something online, and it wasn't until I heard those words and looked to my right that I realized that a man had collapsed. Nearly everyone else in the shop had stood up and gathered around him. At least two people knelt on the floor, supporting his head. The man was elderly: thin white hair and a frail frame. Yet he was completely limp, and the people kneeling beside him were having trouble holding up his head and back. It had all happened so quietly. No gasps, no cries of alarm, no crash. Hardly any drama at all actually. In the space of a few seconds a man had lost consciousness and sunk to the floor a mere six feet away from me, and it took the word 'paramedic' to make me realize that anything was wrong.

I stood with the rest of the people, glancing behind the counter at a barista who was a friend of mine, who was looking on anxiously with the rest of us. Everyone was at a loss for what to do. In the movies it is so much more dramatic. Someone collapses and everyone whips out their phones and dials 911, or someone with medical training is handily there, stepping forward and expertly accessing the situation. Yet in this case when someone asked the question about calling for help an elderly woman with short grey hair said, "No." She said, "He took his blood pressure medication at the wrong time, that's all. Help me get him to the couch. He needs to lay down for awhile."
So a couple of men who were present lifted the old man and carried him to the one couch in the shop and laid him down. Carrying a genuinely unconscious person in real life is also a lot more awkward and difficult than most of the movies portray. The man's shirt got all rolled up so that when they laid him down it was all crumpled and somewhat sideways, even after they tried to straighten it. The woman kept waving away people's questions about whether someone should be called to come check him out.
"He'll be fine, he just needs to rest," she insisted. "He didn't take his blood pressure medication last night so he took the big dose this morning and it was too much for him at once. He'll be fine."

Slowly everyone drifted back to their tables and friends. I sat back down at my laptop, glancing occasionally at the man on the couch. When he collapsed he had had an accident, so the barista and manager had to clean up the floor and put one of those yellow 'Caution: Wet Floor' signs, to avoid any other falls. The woman pulled a table and chairs in front of the couch and sat down. Another woman joined her, and a little while later another couple came in and sat down with them as well. They chatted and guarded the sleeping man, blocking him mostly from view while watching him themselves. I admit: a part of considered calling a paramedic so they could come check him out and make sure, but with the table of people sitting beside him and watching him it seemed like I'd be overstepping. If all four of them felt that he'd be fine then hopefully they were right. Of course he had to get up or be moved from the couch at some point, so in the end it might come down to the decision of the shop manager.
The man finally woke up. He continued to lay on the couch, though he was able to answer when the people at the table asked, "How are you feeling?" It seemed that the woman with the short grey hair was right: he was going to be alright.

It's strange to be an observer of such a scene. To never have a word to say or part to play. Before they moved the man to the couch someone said that they should put something under his head and I had picked up my jacket, ready to offer it as a makeshift pillow. But it wasn't needed after all, so I drifted back to my seat, an audience member is all, or an extra without a speaking part. There are so many roles in life that we can't ever be prepared for. Things happen and we react in some way, whether it be to be the one to carry someone to a couch or to simply hover in readiness. But ... readiness for what? For anything, I suppose. Outside the window I could see a couple sitting at a table with their coffee, oblivious to any of the goings-on inside. Had they known they probably wouldn't be able to do anything, like me, but it makes me wonder: how many things happen on a daily basis, so very close by, that I never realize? How much more involved could I be if I simply made myself look up, look around, look out for things? How much more aware should I be than I am right now?
I'll start by asking the question, and looking up, around, and out for the answer.