The scene across New Court Avenue looks at first blush to be a slice of urban Americana as Ellie B and I hit the homestretch of our Sunday afternoon walk.

A mom oversees her helmeted young son riding his bike in the lot that stretches behind several businesses.

Suddenly, mom is a flash of movement. She reaches a second son, who’s lying on the ground. I decide it’s time for Ellie B and I to cross the street to see if we can be of any help. When we reach the other side, we hear the boy. He’s in pain. Mom sends the younger lad off to find a relative, who’s working a few doors down. They return but she didn’t bring her cell phone.

Mine is out of my pocket, and we’re no longer bystanders.

Mom calls her husband. She relates that he’s traveling on Teall Avenue and on his way.

The injured boy is louder, and more scared by the moment. He can’t move his leg.

I call 911.

The operator is calm, smooth and professional as I describe the alarming situation. A boy has fallen off his bike and says he can’t move his leg. Yes, he’s in pain. We’re in a lot behind a business. Mom calls out the address, and I repeat it. Then: Do you want to talk to his mom?

She takes the phone and answers questions about the lad, still leaning over the frightened child. No blood anywhere. That revelation doesn’t offer any relief to the anguished boy, whose life in the immediate future apparently is coming into focus in waves of declarations and questions. Don’t move me … Tell them to get here fast … I don’t want a cast. … Why did this happen to me? … Noooooo!

Mom tries to calm him. When I tell Ellie B she’s being a good dog, Mom latches on to a soothing thought. See, he’s got an Ellie, too, she says.

Dad pulls up in his truck and leans over his son. I take my phone and volunteer to stand next to the road to wave in the ambulance. I reassure the child that help is on the way and add that he’ll be fine.

I feel relief when I hear the siren in a few short minutes that must seem like forever to the still-wailing boy and his parents. The driver spots me waving and pulls in.

I watch the E.A.V.E.S. paramedics pull out their tools of first-response and move to the injured child.

He’s in good hands, obviously.

Ellie B and I cross back and walk that final stretch home, back to our own business but with well-wishes on our minds.

We’re thinking of you, young man. Feel better soon.