This is a story I wrote down a year ago that I never got the chance to post. I figured since it’s April again, it would be an appropriate springy thing to share.
I can’t drive, and I don’t have buckets of money to pay for Lyfts everywhere I go, so generally whatever the weather is, my guide dog and I are out in it, getting where we need to go. That is why, one April Saturday, Prim and I ventured out into the pouring rain to head to a friend’s recital at my old university. Neither of us were excessively pleased about the damp; I shivered, and Prim did her best to avoid puddles as we set out on the mile walk.
We were standing at a street corner waiting for the light to change. I was listening to the traffic on my right to know when it was safe to cross when, suddenly, a car approached quickly from my left and a massive wave of water struck us. I squeaked and leapt back, shocked by the cold and completely soaked waist down. Prim shook it off and we stepped back up to the curb to wait once more.
Not thirty seconds later, a truck came barreling through the intersection. Before I could react, I was engulfed from head to toe in a six foot high tsunami of street water. The frigid liquid left me breathless, and poor Prim was completely disgruntled. I laughed ruefully and turned to go home, blinking away the water dripping into my eyes. There was absolutely no way I could walk into a recital looking like I’d just fallen into a pool.
“Ma’am!” a voice called from a car at the gas station behind me. I paused, glancing in his direction.
“Ma’am do you need help? I have a towel.” He approached and pushed a towel into my hands.
“Thank you.” I said, surprised. I took the towel and mopped my face. I was just going to believe it was a clean towel, and not something this friendly samaritan had just used to clean greasy hands after working on his engine or something. I vainly tried to dry my clothes with the towel too, but only semi-successfully. I was at least grateful to have dry face and arms. As per my request, the man kindly helped me across the street. I’ve probably asked someone to do that a grand total of two or three times in my life. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t normally need help to cross the street, dog or no dog, but I was not in the mood to be hit by yet a third surge of rainwater.
Upon reaching the other side of the street, I expressed my appreciation to my benefactor, then was promptly dragged by my indignant dog to the nearest door. I was planning on walking the rest of the way to the recital, but clearly Prim had other ideas, and she wasn’t afraid to tell me. She absolutely refused to leave the shelter of the overhang in front of the business. I was trying to reason with her when another voice called from a car in the street.
“Shea!”
It was a friend from college. He offered a ride to our destination, and Prim and I gladly accepted. We arrived just in time for the performance. I sat through the whole thing shaking in my soaked clothes, and winced at the strong smell of wet dog radiating from my poor unhappy pup, but man am I glad we made it, and honestly, it was kind of an exhilarating experience. Who says Nashville doesn’t have a good waterpark?
Opportunity Unleashed 