When You Rescued Me

It was the day after you poked me with a stick. I was riding down the trail, alone, just like you said I shouldn’t, heading for another swim. Didn’t need any guy to tell me something was dangerous. Even if that guy was super cute.

I tried to jump my bike over a log, not even that big of a log. I’d done it before, but this time I spazzed out, the wheel caught, and I landed weird on my arm. It cracked. I actually heard it. The pain cut through me.

After gasping and swearing on the ground for a while, I pulled my phone out. I called home, but Mom didn’t answer. Then I called Steph. Her phone went straight to voicemail. I could walk, but I’d have to leave my bike, and it hurt to move. I thought of you. You had a truck. You knew the trail. And I had your phone number.

“It’s Jessie,” I said when you grunted out a hello, but then you didn’t say anything. It was weird. I mean, it wasn’t like you’d forget me. How often does anyone see a naked girl in the river? “Jessie Doone?”

“Jessie Doone. Jessie from biology. Jessie from the river. Jessie with the tangerine hair. You think I’d forget you?” I could tell you were smiling. “My mouth was full. I was just swallowing.”

You didn’t hear the croaky way I was talking, didn’t realize something was wrong. “I need help,” I said. “I think I broke my arm.”

You nearly shouted in my ear. “What? Where are you?”

“Matheson Trail.”

“You want me to call an ambulance?”

“Can you just come?” I couldn’t tell you it was too expensive. An ambulance would cost seventy-five dollars. I only knew this because my mom had a panic attack six months back, and we called for an ambulance.

“I’ll be right there,” you said. “Stay on the phone with me.” I dragged myself to a tree and rested against it, clutching my bad arm with my good one. It felt like I was being stabbed with a jagged knife from the inside.

You talked to me the whole time and told me what you were doing. “I’m getting in my truck.” “I’m driving past the mill.” “There’s an old lady driving slow in front of me. I’ll go around her at the next light.” “Passing a cop car, maybe I should slow down.” “I’m at the parking lot.” “On the trail now.”

I listened to your heavy breathing as you ran. Every few minutes, you’d say, “Almost there” or “I’m coming.” I heard you before I saw you, your running shoes tearing down the trail toward me. You skidded to a stop, sweat dripping down your face.

“Oh, baby,” you said. That was the first time you said baby to me. We barely knew each other.

You wrapped your arm around my body, your hand under my armpit, and helped me stand up. You pushed my bike, and I walked slowly beside you, cradling my arm, trying not to cry out with each step.

We made it to the parking lot and you helped me into the truck, pushed on my butt because I couldn’t grab on and pull myself up. It would have been sexy if I weren’t in so much pain. You even put on my seat belt for me—I didn’t have to ask. It kind of blew me away. Before you, I’d never had a single thoughtful boyfriend.

You ran around the truck and jumped in. When the truck started up, Etta James blasted over the speakers. “Who’s this?” I asked.

“Who’s this?” you exclaimed, and then you went off on a long history of all things Etta James. Said her mother was fourteen when she had her, she went out with James Brown, who was a real great singer, but he beat her up. She deserved more, you said, then you patted the dashboard, and said, “Named this baby after her.”

“Your truck has a name?” I grimaced.

“Every vehicle should have a name. It’s good luck.”

When we picked up my mom, it took forever for her to open the door, and then she was standing there in her housecoat with greasy hair and I thought, Man, that is it, you’ll see past her, into my garbage dump of a house and you are never going to want to hang out with me again.

You helped her into the truck. She asked if I was okay, and then she said, “Oh, I love Etta James.” I looked at her, like, who is this woman?

She told you that she never opens the door to strangers. You chuckled, said that was a good idea, ma’am. I gave you a sharp look—ma’am? But that’s how you are, always polite.

“I thought you were selling something,” she said.

“Why would he be selling something?” I was horrified. If I hadn’t been in so much pain, I would have told her to shut up. But you would have hated that.

She turned toward me to answer and bumped my bad hand with her hip. You’d been so careful not to touch my arm, even pressing yourself to the window to avoid it. I screamed in pain.

“Oh no! Are you okay?” she said. “Here. For the pain.” She reached in her purse and took out some aspirin, and you handed me your water bottle to drink it down.

“Are you friends from school?” she asked.

“We are.” You looked at me with a smirk, like you weren’t sure what to say. Just because you bought me a doughnut and we held hands didn’t mean we were a couple. Mom gave me a funny look like she’d figured it out.

At the hospital, you sat with us in the waiting room and even went to get us two Mountain Dews from the vending machine. Mom registered me and had to interact with regular people. Had to admire her a little, doing that for me.

I said you could leave us, we could take a taxi, but you said, “I’m not leaving you, no way.” You waited until I got my cast and my painkillers, and then you drove us back.

On the way home, I gazed at the side of your face, at your smooth skin, the whiskers above your lip, that killer dimple, and I thought, What if he really likes me?

At my house, I just decided, I was staying with you. I told Mom we were going out for a doughnut. You looked at me, surprised. “We are?”

“Do you have plans?” I felt nervous.

“Hell no.” Then you glanced at my mom. “Excuse my language.”

I snorted. Mom and I were way beyond language.

She got out of the truck and you waited until she was in the house to drive off. “So?” you said.

“I don’t care what we eat. I just want to be with you.” I smirked, all loopy from the drugs.

“Ice cream?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

We drove to Dairy Queen and went through the drive-thru for ice-cream sundaes, and you parked at the edge of the parking lot by the wooded area where no one could see us. You had a Jack and Jill, which I learned was chocolate mixed with marshmallow, and I had strawberry and I did that thing where I’m jealous of whatever the other person ordered, and I kept tasting yours.

You held out your dish, grinning at me like you didn’t care if I took it all. I liked you for not being mad that I was eating yours and not mine. Once I had this boyfriend who wouldn’t share his food—major red flag. Sorry, I know you hate it when I mention old boyfriends, but I’m just saying, because of this, I knew you were different.

You had this smudge of marshmallow next to your mouth and I couldn’t stop myself—I leaned over and licked it off. It must have been the drugs, because that was the weirdest first move ever. I mean, licking a guy? Most guys would be pretty turned off, but not you.

You gazed at me like it was normal and we kissed, and your lips were so soft and warm; I felt like I could sit there and kiss you forever.