What A Kid Can Do
It was very cold. There had been ice on the path all week. Jonas was looking out the window of his apartment, eating an apple, while his grandmother had her afternoon nap.
The postman came up the path on his bicycle.
The postman hit a patch of ice.
The postman fell.
Jonas froze for a moment. The postman did not get up. The postman lay on the path, his leg twisted in a wrong-looking way.
Jonas was six. He thought, very fast, about who was home. Grandmother was asleep. Mama was at work. Papa was at work.
Jonas knew the rule for emergencies. The rule was: tell a grown-up. Then call 112.
He went to Grandmother's bed. He shook her arm, very gently, but firmly.
"Oma. There's a postman on the path. He's hurt."
Oma woke up at once. She moved faster than Jonas had ever seen her move. She put on her slippers. She went to the window. She looked.
"Right," she said. "Jonas, the cordless phone is on the kitchen table. Bring it."
Jonas brought it.
Oma called 112. She spoke clearly. The address. The situation. Yes. Hurry. Thank you.
Then she said to Jonas, "Bring me the blanket from the chair. I'm going downstairs."
"Can I come?"
"Yes. We don't leave him alone."
They went downstairs together. Oma walked very carefully on the icy path with the blanket. The postman was still on the ground but conscious. Jonas held the postman's hand. Oma put the blanket on him and talked to him