Samaritan

The rain was miserable. No, the rain was needed, driving in it was miserable. A Lexus sped past us on the left side with several youth wavingS, and saluting us with beer bottles. A jalopy was hot on their heels,(wheels). Racing on a night like this, no wonder the death rate is high for young adults. I was in a church van on our way back from a long revival, tired and exhausted, envisioning pulling back my quilts, fluffing up my pillows, scooping Scruffy up in my arms and sleeping for twenty years. My name? Van Winkle, Mrs. Rip Van Winkle. Oh, of course I was also thinking of the magnificent messages I spent the last few nights listening to. Thunder cracked, lightening exploded across the sky and a shadowy figure leaped at us from the road side.
We skidded, nearly colliding with him, but maintained our ground and continued.
"Shouldn't we stop to see what's wrong?" I asked the driver.
"It's Friday night, he's drunk. That's what's wrong." The minister informed me from the passenger seat.
"It's Friday night for us too, and we're not drunk." I explained.
I got the "look" from several of those present. I watched out the back window. The poor man was staggering down the street after us. Rain pouring, lightening coloring the sky and thunder clapping. The church's whole caravan passed him. Well, one church, one body, one mind; except for me, the errant nerve cell. This human neglect angered me. Years ago that could have been me. But for the grace of God, there goes I.
We got deposited in the church parking lot and disbanded to our cars. Every one said "God bless" to all and carried their bibles home. My quilt would have to wait; I had a job to do. I retraced the path to where I had last seen the Drunk. There he was, sitting by a tree, holding his head and vomiting. My umbrella would be useless for me and too late for him. I slowly approached Drunk. His head was bleeding, his clothes torn and ripped. Blood oozed out of his nose and mouth. Recent cuts and bumps covered what I could see of his body. No better time to be sick. Thank heavens it was pouring. It diluted the stench.
His clothes had been costly at one time; I made a mental note to ask him which Goodwill he shopped at.
"Help me." Drunk pleaded, his words slurred. "My car...money...cell...gone." He stammered with considerable effort in a non English speaking undertone. That was the high price of alcohol. It took everything you owned and trashed it sending it into a land of memories. This guy appeared to still be in his teens, early twenties.
Now that I was up close and personal with Drunk, what should I do? I hadn't thought past finding him. I couldn't take him home and he obviously had been in a barroom brawl. This is Texas, are they still called that? He needed medical attention. Rain was plastering my clothes to my bones; exposing sensitive female anatomy and making me feel exposed. Thank heavens my make up wasn't smeared, it was simply rinsed away. I glanced at my warm car and thought of just leaving after all but instead got behind Drunk and lifting him to his feet steered him to his awaiting coach. Cars continued past, not bothering to stop to render aide.
The owners of one car did slow down enough to yell out the window,” Get a room, will ya!"
Water pooled on the floorboards and soaked into the seats. Man, was my transportation going to smell sweet in the morning. Mildew is a good Yankee Candle fragrance that hasn't been marketed yet, and it has such potential. I got a whiff of vomit once again in the closed car. Down went the windows letting in more moisture. Drunk's shirt wasn't completely rain washed off and carried "herbal scents" of his last meal.
I drove to the nearest Medical institute and got help in the emergency room parking lot. At the admissions desk I signed my life away, confirming I'd be responsible for the bills. (could I really be held liable for them?) There goes my cruise I'd been saving up for for ten years. Funny the longer I saved, the cost of the cruise escalated. They should consider pre paid plans, like funeral homes.
With no I.D, no idea of previous medical conditions etc, they sutured his lacerations, covered him in a clean gown and admitted him for observation due to his head injuries. I was observing my cruise ship leave the harbor; without me.
Feeling I more than did my job I finally headed to the warmth and comfort of my loving pooch and bed. Scruffy met me at the door when she heard my keys. As I stepped into the foyer she greeted me with a happy bark that slowly reverted to a sniff and growl. She backed away from me, keeping eye contact as though I might jump her and cause harm.
"Come here, girl". She proceeded to put distance between us, ears laying against her head, tail beginning to droop. The dog eats her own vomit on occasion and can't stand the way I smell now! How flattering, what loyalty!
The next day, early in the morning I returned to the hospital to find T.V crews, in vans and helicopters, police and lots of fancy automobiles surrounding the hospital. Was that a limousine with a chauffeur? I made it past all the commotion with great difficulty. How could emergency patients get past all this hoop la. I hadn't seen the news this morning, what the heck had happened last night?
I located the elevators when I heard a whoop. "There she is!"
I had to turn to see who caused such excitement, expecting to see a movie star or some celebrity. People were pointing at me! An army of reporters rushed in my direction, raising a sense of panic that caused me to brace myself against the closed elevator doors and raise my hands in defense.
"It's not me! I didn't do it." I screamed falling on my butt when the elevator doors opened.
A suit approached me. Two suits. Someone helped me to my feet. A lot of important looking people crowded around me. Microphones where shoved in my face. Police elbowed their way to the front and escorted me to a private room with several of the Suits. I was terrified. What have I done!!
"I want a lawyer!" I bellowed.
"Calm down m'am. It's alright." With time it was explained to me that the young man I rescued last night was an ambassador’s son who had been way-layed by carjackers. The Lexus that had passed us with the beer drinkers had been his misappropriated auto! Don't ask me to repeat the country's name, I'd never be able to pronounce it without causing a war, but the ambassador was extremely grateful to me for saving his only son.
I had intervened in a deadly situation, pulling the victim out of the jaws of death from exposure. I was a hero. Me. Mrs. Rip Van Winkle. Wait till I tell Scruffy who she rejected last night! I was being offered massive reward money I couldn't turn down with out offending the ambassador's native customs. No problem, I don't want to be offensive. I wonder if it would be polite to ask if the young man had insurance.
Getting home to peace a quiet once again I received a phone call from my Pastor, who had witnessed my story on live T.V updates throughout the day.
"Good job." He informed me. "You're a credit to our congregation." Then he went on to remind me of my tithing obligations, giving back to God what he made available to me.
I agreed with him wholeheartedly. I was already planning on giving my tenth; that is once I found a church that didn't think everyone stumbling around on
Friday nights was intoxicated. Then again, that would have to wait till Scruffy and I returned from our impending cruise, compliments of Mr. Ambassador (and God).
Luke 10:30-37