It was a dark and humid summer night, quiet in every sense of the word. More quiet than I can ever remember. The drive was much the same as always, so I thought.
The flash of a dim light in the darkness, “Do I see something?” The vagueness of the moment made me wonder if I should stop and look.
My heart tells me to take notice, or I may regret my indifference. There lying in the center median, is my brush with humanity. His name is Paul. He is lying beside the crumpled remains of what appears to be a motorcycle. I approach him with a caution I had never known before, scared of what I might find.
I gently called out, “do you need help?” In a quiet whisper he replied, “thank god you are here, I’m hurt. “Please help, I need to call my girlfriend, she will be so worried.” I took his hand in mine and felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins. My maternal instincts immediately took over and I found myself comforting a young man I had never met before.
I searched my mind for all I had been taught about emergencies. My mind was racing. “Call 911”.” Don’t move his head.” I prayed to God that I would be able to save this man and remember all the rules I had been taught.
“Hi, what’s your name?” I asked with a calm I did not feel. “Paul”, he replied. I told him it would be okay and not to be scared. My boyfriend was already calling for help, just as I knew he would. A blanket, long forgotten in the back seat of the truck, cradled Paul for what seemed an eternity. The faint sound of sirens in the distance was music to my ears. I held onto that young man as if he were my child.
Paul asked for only one thing from me, to call Melinda, his girlfriend. I gladly dialed the number as I pondered how to tell her the man she loved was seriously injured. The words came from somewhere inside me and sounded strangely calm and reassuring. I promised Melinda I would stay with Paul until he was safe. I held the phone next to his ear as he whispered “I love you...