The Time I Was Helped
I felt a chill run down my back in the moment I closed the car door to check if the car was parked properly between two garages. I had accidentally locked the door, the keys still in the ignition, and the car still running! It does not matter that I was late leaving home this morning. My alarm clock did not work, the milk had gone sour the moment I poured it on my cereal, and I was late for my ELS quiz that morning. It had been just a couple of months since I immigrated to the Land of Opportunity and although I loved it, I still had not fully adapted myself to this country. The language barrier contributed to my feeling like the alien that I was in this country. I yearned to be able to communicate with others and this day was not helping me at all.
Got to think now what to do – I had my backpack with me, good. Did I have any coins to make a phone call home? Yes. Running down the street, searching for the right coins to feed the phone, I look at my watch dreading each second that took me away from my fated ESL quiz. I get to the phone and call home. Nobody answers. I left a detailed message to dad.
Dragging my feet back to where I had parked the car, I realized it was already too late for the quiz. Shoulders sagging, I placed my hands on the windshield, hoping against hope that the door might magically open for me. I take a deep breath only to choke on the discharge coming from the running engine.
“Need help?” I heard. I turned towards the sound of the voice, and a guy in his late twenties dress in jeans and a t-shirt seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. I noticed that he had an accent, but I could not place it. I searched his face for any sign of mockery or bad intentions and find none. Dark locks shaped his face, and bright, clear eyes bring serenity to my hectic morning.
“I locked my car accidentally, and it is still running!” I choked embarrassed.
From his bag, he retrieved a wire hanger and started to shape it. I wondered what he was doing, having never seen a hanger like that, and neither having ever seen a car being broken in by the use of a hanger. I stare at him attempting to unlock my car by probing the window with the wire hanger.
“Don’t worry; things like this happen to everybody.” He said trying to soothe my spirit, but I am frazzled. Minutes passed by and he finally manages to slip the hanger in and unlock the car door. Relief waves ran down my body and I don’t know how to thank him. I looked at him again, just noticing how good looking he was.
“Thank you so much!” I said, smiling at him.
“You are welcome! By the way, I like that pendant you are wearing,” he said while he folded his wire hanger and put it back into his backpack.
I looked down and remembered that I had put on my St. Raphael the Archangel locked that my grandmother had given me on my last day in my native Brazil, “This Archangel is powerful and he is your guardian angel. When you need help, he will come to you,” she had said.
I looked back up at my helper, and he was nowhere to be found. Nonetheless, I said out loud, “Thank you for helping me in my time of need, Raphael!”