Here is the short story: Springfield man faces 35,000-pound Philly bus and lives to share the miraculous save, and why I am still rattled and shaking.
To celebrate my husband "Dave's" birthday early, we each eat a Shake Shack specialty shack burger with its famous smashed patty, seasoned sauce, and choosing to hold the salty un-American yellow cheese. Strolling home I hold Dave's forearm (a key detail to the happy ending of this hair-raising drama). At 6:10 p.m. we stop at busy Philly intersection Market and 11th waiting for the official “Walk” signal. The Walk appears, check. Type A Dave briefly looks left then to his right and quickly steps onto the street to cross, check.
Probably nano-seconds after Jeff's look to the left (remember, he is type A who must, because it is there, cross the street), I also look left before cautiously stepping off the curb, now tagging behind Jeff still gripping his forearm, but there is an arm-length distance between us. I see a 35,000-pound city bus barreling through the red light and headed for the bus stop down a ways and to the right of us and at Jeff (a frightening moment that is imprinted on my brain), check. In Jeff's defense, the city bus was hidden from his view because of a stopped or parked city bus (Jeff did see the stopped bus). That stopped bus must have compelled the other bus driver to last-minute impulsively whip around the stopped city bus and knowingly or unknowingly run the red light.
Mr. Reckless bus driver had to have been looking behind, right, left and everywhere but ahead. Jeff was in the direct line of fire, and only because I was already holding his arm could I quickly and firmly jerk him back to the curb a split second (maybe 2) before the monstrous bus full-steam whisked by, no brakes applied, oh my.
A Native Philly woman next to us who witnessed it all, feeling as frightened and shocked as I, and more familiar with vigorously sharing her mind yells at the bus driver, “You ran a red light, !!!###!!!” Wish we had gotten the bus number or something to report that deadly driver, but at that moment too numb, shaken, and confused to again think quickly. Dave did not see what almost hit him; the only trauma he felt was me jerking him back. So I doubt he really gets (like I do) how close he came to not experiencing "When I'm 64" (The Beatles).
