Toyota First-Aid Kit

I was to take her this morning because I wouldn't be able to pick her up this evening...

...because I have a meeting.

Increments of 10, the trio sat and stared and sanctified the sentiments of a poet--new to us but familiar in his emotion. He expressed us, and reaffirmed us in 10 to 12 minute clips three times over.

Minutes passed as I tossed words with my dad about inconveniences and obligations...

...I assured him, I would take her.

Moments passed as I went to get ready, and paused to pass memories and warmth with a friend who needed an ear and needed a heart...

...I assured him, I was there for him. And then, he left.

And so I got dressed--not pausing as I responded to my mom's calls of "yallah!"
"Ok, ok, Im coming." I was making her late, but I was right on time on God's watch.

"Do you still want to go 3al o2boor?"
She huffed, mostly annoyed but also loving, "I can't now. I'm already late."

Minutes passed as the Toyota hummed 495 in unison with AbdelBasset. Al Qur'an Al Kareem 3a roo7 il Shamaleeya, and the third day of the mourning period passed minute-by-minute.

"You don't need to speed to get me there," she mumbled so as not to out-sound the recitation of Surat Al Ba2ara.
"I'm not speeding," I mumbled as I eased my foot off the gas, and eased from 70 to 65 before I breathed the last syllable of "speeding." 

Seconds passed as I watched her walk toward the door of Khalti's house to began her Sunday chores, and I wavered between trails. 

I chose Fletcher's Cove because God chose it for me.

I drove.

I arrived.

I reversed to park.

I switched from CD to Tape, and plugged in my iPhone.

I called Dar il Shamali because I hadn't yet. I spoke.

I almost finished the call twice before, but Samira kept me reminiscing, kept me comforting, kept me giving an ear and a heart. "Il Shamaleeya 2a3da bt7adirlna il wara2 dawalee!," she beat me by miliseconds to that joke, and I told her so. We laughed and finally finished on the third goodbye. I had anticipated this would be a longer conversation, and that my run would be delayed, and I loved it as I love il Shamaleeya.

And I was right on time on God's clock.

I ran.

My left knee was killing me. While "Sitti" was still here, it was the right. Now that she had left, it was the left. 

Fifty minutes passed as I ran through it.

I paused along the railing to stretch out my calves, and to update my status: "DO so that you may forget how to utter the phrase, 'ya rayt.'"

I had been thinking of that during at least 5 of the 50 minutes because I had said it to Samira, and I had to write it now or else it would be lost.

I walked to my backed-up car, opened the door, put the iPhone and the earbuds on the seat.

"HELP!!"

"HELP!!"

I looked around to see where it was coming from and if it was sincere--I'm a skeptic, OF EVERYTHING.

I saw nothing.

"HELP!!!"

I ran.

Others did too.

Betty was older and frail and weighed down. She had fallen as she had tried to leave the portable restroom, and caught one leg out while most of her was still in. She was embarrassed and hurt, and Fred-Robert was unable to lift her on his own.

I gave Betty my words and my heart, "You're OK, just relax and breathe. You're OK, just take a deep breath. You're OK. You're going to be OK."

Some of us kept the "jon" stable while others lifted Betty.

"No, we do not need an ambulance. We can do this."

The men left after she was propped up to sit and relax, to get her senses about her, to breathe, and to calm the shaking.

Tammy and I stayed with Betty and Fred-Robert; we all waited for her to stabilize.

Betty was embarrassed, and I assured her, "Nothing is weird in Washington, so don't worry."

Fred-Robert responded, "Well, we're from LA, so we know about that. But we thank you so much. In LA, if people heard, 'HELP!', they'd just run away faster. Thank you."

And then he continued, "Man, you two must be nurses or mothers or something." 

"I'm neither," I smiled. "Really?!," said Fred-Robert. "I'm a mother," said Tammy.

Moments and words passed before we discovered the expanding bruise on Betty's right ankle and the cut that had formed.

"I think I have a band-aid in the car."

I ran.

I had left the left door open, but kept close eye on it while keeping close eye on Betty. I closed it and opened the trunk, and I remembered: Toyota First-Aid Kit.

Minutes of "thank-you"s from Fred-Robert and Betty to Tammy and me. Cleaned and bandaged and relaxed, Betty was ready to take the two steps into their car. I placed the Toyota First-Aid Kit on the hood so I could help stabilize the "jon" as she stabilized herself and leaned on Tammy and Fred-Robert so that she could depend less upon her bad left leg.

She was in: "See, you're safe and secure now."

The four of us said our good-byes: "Have a safe rest of your day in Washington."

Tammy and I walked back to our cars, and I noticed her license plate: she was a Maryland driver. I kept my mouth and mind shut ;)

I returned the Toyota First-Aid Kit to the trunk.

I opened the left door, and got in.

I switched from Tape to CD, so AbdelBasset could pick-up Surat Al Ba2ara where I left it. 

"Al 7amdulilah," I said as the Toyota hummed gravel-under-tire.

Minutes later, I was home--late and punctual, as God had intended.