HER

“Get back into bed!” Harriet yells at me when I shuffle into the kitchen.

“Nooooooooooooo, bed and I are no longer getting along. I think we’ve spent too much time together and now we need some space. He got custody of the bedroom, so I’m moving out.” I sit down at the table and grab a banana from the fruit plate.

“Let me...” Harriet starts.

“Let you what? Peel my banana for me?” I laugh, smiling at her gratefully. “I think that that’s one step away from choo-choo train feeding me, and I’m, like, 22 years too old and 80 years too young for that.”

Harriet balls up her tissue and throws it. It hits me on the forehead and I feign pain, “Owwwww... it hurts... I need help. Peel my banana for meeeeeeeee.”

“Oh hush. I was just trying to help,” she pouts.

“Oh really, with that kind of heinous violence?” I say, pointing at the crumpled tissue on the floor. I look back up at her and smile. “I’m okay. I really am. My headache’s completely gone and the stitches in my back itch more than anything right now. Only thing left is this bitchin’ black eye, but I thought I’d keep it, scare people and young children away in the ice cream line, you know?” I wink at her with my good eye.

She shrugs and goes back to her sandwich, “Fine. But, if you’re sick of bed, just sit on the couch and watch some TV or something, okay? It wouldn’t hurt you to rest for a few more days.”

“I was going to go back to work with you tomorrow.” I admit.

“Yeah. Definitely not. Next topic of conversation?”

“Why not? I’m BORED and anyway, I need the job, I’m dreading that hospital bill. Dealing with insurance is a bitch.”

“Honey, the way Harold feels, you’re going to be there after we’re all dead and dust. You’ll have a job there for life.”

“How does Harold feel?” I hadn’t really had a chance to talk to him since the incident, just a quick call once we got back to Harriet’s house to let him know I was okay.

“He still feels SO guilty. He thinks it’s his fault because he made you stay late for the delivery.”

“Awww, it’s not his fault, it could’ve happened to anyone at any time. Does he not remember where we live? Giuliani only cleaned it up so much.”

“You try telling him! Not to mention, those manuscripts have gone missing,” Harriet makes a sad face.

“Yeah, damn. I was so looking forward to going through those as well...you know, when I go back to work tomorrow.”

“Nice try.”

“Fine, I’ll stay home, and you know, climb up on this chair here and dust the tops of your cabinets... then I might go out on the fire escape and clean your windows before...”

“Okay, okay! We’ll see how you feel when you wake up tomorrow. Something tells me, you’re going to be just fine!”

I grin at her, “Yay! I win. Hey, hand me my phone, will you? I’ve got to call the hospital make sure they have my insurance details.”

***

“You are NOT going to believe this,” I yell through the bedroom wall to Harriet on the other side.

“What?” She yells back.

“HE paid for it.”

“He who paid for what it?”

“HE, my guardian angel! He paid for my hospital bill!”

“WHAT?!!?” I hear a thump and an ‘ow’ then she comes running into my room. “He did what?” she repeats climbing into bed next to me.

“Well, I called the hospital and they told me that there was no record of me with an outstanding balance. So, I told them that couldn’t be right, so they said they’d look into it and they just called me back and said, this afternoon, some guy called Xavier came in on behalf of Mr. K and paid the bill in full... and get this... in CASH.”

“Whoaaaaa,” Harriet says, mirroring my own reaction.

“Yeah. See? Curiouser and curiouser!”

“Dude. You’ve got to find him!”

“It doesn’t sound like he wants to be found.”

“You’re a genealogist. It’s your job to find DEAD people!”

“But...”

“He saved your life, Jade.”

I make a face at her. Truth is, I can’t get my mind off him, not just because he saved me and I want to thank him from the bottom of my heart, but something about him keeps permeating my dreams.

I need a face to go with the voice that comforted me in my worst moment.

***

The next morning, sitting at my office desk, I note down every detail I can remember about him. It isn’t much.

Tall, about 6”2, strong, muscle-y build (he carried me for lord knows how many blocks), deep voice. Ruby isn’t much help, all she can add is, “always wore a damned hoodie, you’d have thought he was the thug.” She also said she never even really saw his eyes.

Isn’t that weird? We don’t even know his eye color. He really is a mystery man.

I think about posting something on my Facebook, I imagine it will sound something like, “Looking for tall guy wearing a hoody who was in the lower west side around 8 p.m. last Monday.” It is about as vague and lame as a desperate personals ad.

“Help meeee,” I beg Harriet, who is still unhappy that she lost the coin toss that won me a ride to work.

“I know less about him than you do!” she huffs.

“Well, at least tell me where to start looking.”

“You’re sitting in one of the biggest genealogy departments IN THE WORLD.”

“But, I have NO idea where to start looking. At least dead people have birthdates or third cousins or something to go on.”

“Have you tried searching for ‘hoodie addicts anonymous?’” She guffaws at her own joke.

“Ha ha... but I’m getting about that desperate, yes.” I sigh as I lay my head down on the desk. I am getting a bit tired, not that I want to admit it to Harriet, and my injuries are starting to ache.

The phone rings, interrupting my begging, and I welcome the distraction. “Hello, Jade Sinclair speaking.”

“Ms. Sinclair, it’s Kerri Anne from Channel 17 news, how are you?”

“Um... I’m okay.” I answer warily.

“Oh, wonderful. We’re just calling because we were wondering if we could do a short interview with you about your attack.”

“How do you..?”

“We’ve been doing a series of shows on personal security and safety, and we’d love to have you on to tell your story, alert women to the dangers on the streets. We’ve had a few other mugging victims on in the last few days, and now that you’re back on your feet, if you could come in to talk to us for about a 10 minute segment, it would really help our campaign.”

“Uh...” Well, this is out of nowhere. “Um, what kind of things would I have to talk about? I’m kinda shy.” I hear Harriet snicker behind me.

“Oh, don’t worry about a thing, our hosts will make you feel comfortable and you’d just have to answer a few questions: what happened, how did you feel, how have you dealt with the attack since, talk about how you survived, for example. The reason we want real victims on, is because you’re more relatable than some hulky defence instructor coming on and yelling at our viewers to be prepared.”

“Oh. Um... okay.” I don’t really know if I am ready, but it sounds like a good reason to talk about it.

“So, yeah, oh! And you can talk about the guy who saved you, people love a good hero story.”

And in that moment, I know how I am going to find him.

***