When I noticed him, the man already crossed halfway of the six-lane street, slowly, and almost diagonally, wobbling and stumping on his left foot, with one hand carrying a big supermarket plastic bag. He came toward right in front of me, turned his back to me and dropped himself on the ground, clumsily hitting on the glass in between us, making a huge noise. After settling down, he took out a pair of drumsticks from his bag, or two long sticks similar to drumsticks, and started to waggle them in the air. He might sing as well, indistinctly, at least from the other side of the glass. Yet, I could tell that what he got was a set of drums, jiggling his drumsticks from left to right and from top to down.
Let me just call him the drummer uncle.
On the other side of the glass was me sitting facing the window on a high bar stool in one of my favourite coffee shops. My sight was slightly hindered by my laptop, and thus, I could only see the two drumsticks, the drummer uncle’s waggling hands and his bending legs. I was curious what else was in his bag, but I couldn’t manage to see anything. The next moment, he put down his sticks and lay down on his right side.
It was Thursday afternoon around 4 o’clock on the Leith Walk. The street was particularly busy this time in the summer. After all, Thursday is the shopping day. Several people walked passed the drummer uncle without paying any attention or maybe pretending not to. But more people slowed their pace and gave him a sidelong glance. After a while, a man and a woman looked East Asian, went past and then came back to approach the drummer uncle. With one leg kneeling down, the man looked, trying to check if the drummer uncle was still breathing and if he needed anything. The Asian-looking man grabbed his phone in one hand and looked almost ready to dial 999. It was most like that the drummer uncle turned the man down, refusing any assistance. After checking repeatedly, although not completely satisfied, the man and the woman eventually left.
There was another old lady who tried to come closer, and then she saw me on the other side of the glass. We had eye contact, and she gestured, asking me if the drummer uncle was okay.
I nodded. And then the lady left.
There was another tall, strong middle-aged man, and then a man on a bike. They both tried to check if the drummer uncle was in need of anything, but all were turned down. They all left looking slightly worried.
While going through all these at the same time, on the other side of the glass, I felt like I was part of the stage props. For some moments, I did wonder whether I should take any action. But do what and for what reasons? Because I saw the drummer uncle lying down, I did not feel the urgency to call 999. Suddenly, from the hundred sights, I saw the drummer uncle did put on a pair of socks and looking-nice hiking boots.
Maybe annoyed by too many interferences, the drummer uncle decided to sit up. Not long after he sat up, another man in black approached him. I thought it was another “checking if he was alright” request. Yet, they started to talk to each other, just like they knew each other, or they did actually. They talked for a minute, and the drummer uncle stood up, grabbing his bag. And then two of them, holding each other’s arms and walked across the street.
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