george's episode

I can't explain what it was I felt in the moment that the mentally ill man wandered into the picnic area and began to shout. He was frantically calling for some invisible person or people to come back down and join him. He continued into the woods, his voice getting louder and more desperate, sputtering profanities. I suppose I felt a moment of fear, but mostly I felt this poor soul's panic and insanity as I watched what appeared as a bizarre and unexpected play before me. I thought perhaps he was calling for members of his group to join him. And then, I got a sense that he was re-living something that may have been what had made him snap. War time? Family tragedy? I suppose it doesn't matter.

The main was balding and had gray hair. I imagine he was in his 60s. He walked down the wooded path away from the picnic area and into the trees, continuing to yell. I glanced over at an older couple sitting at their picnic table. They looked concerned, and yet knowing. After about two minutes, a younger man in a green polo shirt approached the picnic area, wearing a hanging badge of some sort around his neck. He signaled to me from the walkway with a slight wave, as if to say, "I've got him. It will be okay."

The younger man walked softly down the path and called to him, "George!" He didn't yell; he wasn't loud. He was firm and tried to get George's attention. The younger man more quickly stepped up his pace toward George when the raving man seemed to not hear him at all. The older man continued yelling, incomprehensibly, except for the occasional "God Dammit" or "Come back you fucking ___."

"George!" "George," the younger man continued as he caught up to him quietly and spoke to him in a soft voice. I don't know what he said, but the man began to quiet down and walk back out of the woods toward the picnic area. The younger man gently held George's arm. He was kind. He was calm.

It was quiet for a few moments. The ranger strolled over to the older couple and said, "Nice day, isn't it?" From my chair, at a distance from the couple (off by myself with the idea that I could get some reading done,) I heard bits of the conversation between the couple and the ranger. "It was a little disturbing . . . sounded like he may have been military." "Got away from his group. Mentally challenged." "Counselor was in a green shirt. . . he is over there. Still kind of going at it . . ."

And then, it was completely quiet again save for the sounds of the Labor Day picnics beginning here and there. It was nearly noon. The weather was perfect: sunny and nearing 80 degrees. I tried to return to my reading, but instead, I burst into tears. I cried for a minute or two. I didn't want those feelings inside of me. I am so sorry they were inside of George. And what a loving and special individual the counselor was to handle that episode, and what I imagine must be countless others, with patience and caring and calm.

Before long, the sounds of children playing on the beach and splashing in the lake filled the air. Smells of lighter fluid, charcoal, and hot dogs wafted about, beginning to wipe away the memory of George's episode. Nearly. I walked across the beach to talk with Matt and Tom who were playing volleyball across the park. Matt asked, "Mom, who was that man?" I explained as best I could that he was a man who wasn't mentally well. He was going through something awful and he didn't quite understand that it wasn't real. He nodded.

By the time I moved my chair to be closer to the happy noise, the picnic tables were all filled. This was a park on a holiday Monday, marking the end of summer.