Halfway through Thursday’s class, one of the students—Mrs. Moses, who’d introduced herself before the session began—somehow twisted and fell off her stool, landing hard on her left hip. I heard a loud pop, and she cried out in pain. I was wearing a towel—a prop for this evening’s class—when I rushed over to check on her, along with Wayne, while the rest of the students looked on and offered their opinions on the matter, helpful or not.
Wayne called 911 and I did my best to make the old lady comfortable on the cement floor, a few bunched up rags underneath her head to serve as a sort of pillow. As much pain as she was likely experiencing, Mrs. Moses still managed to retain a sense of humor. “You know, if I were a few years younger, you’d have me knocking on your door.”
I rolled my eyes an
