Episode 1 is here.

The day after I flooded the twins’ apartment was a Sunday. The weather was beautiful, crisp and autumnal and I laced up my sneakers for a late morning run. I read a study recently that suggested keeping your brain active by switching up your routines – brush your teeth with your non-dominant hand! Get dressed with your eyes closed! While I naturally tend to change up my running routes, I tend to always head in the same general direction. AM GONNA TRICK MY BRAIN! I thought and went left instead of right.

I passed a playground, pulled myself across the monkey bars, did a few step ups on the benches, attempted a few chin ups which, HA HA HA. And took off toward the park.

It was at the twenty minute mark that I went down. That lovely part of a run where you really sink into a groove, into a stride, muscles warm, legs in rhythm. My sneaker caught in a piece of uneven pavement, iPod went flying and I landed on both elbows, my knee staying in one place while my body moved in another.

My thought process went as follows:

1. If I broke something, I am screwed due to lack of health insurance. PLEASE OH PLEASE LET NOTHING BE BROKEN.
2. I AM PRETTY SURE SOMETHING IS BROKEN.
3. Ow, ow, ow. I am actually moaning. Out loud. How embarrassing. I cannot stop myself. And now I am crying. Holy, this shit HURTS.

Out of nowhere, disrupting my thoughts, a maroon 1993 Ford Tempo screeched to a stop in front of the sidewalk and a middle aged man started ranting and rushing over to me.

“YOUNG LADY!” he screamed, leaping from the car and slamming the door. “I SAW YOU FALL! I MAKE A U-TURN! IT IS ALRIGHT NOW!”

His name was Rafael.

His sister was a doctor.

He assured me he knew many things, many medicine things.

I believed him because what do I know? Every time I got sick as a kid (strep throat, sinus infection, the flu), my mom would drag me to my uncle, a chiropractor, to align my spine.

“WHAT,” someone exclaimed to me recently, “DOES A CHIROPRACTOR HAVE TO DO WITH THOSE ILLNESSES?”

“Well, nothing,” I replied. But Rita was convinced that it did. And in her defense, the alignment of my spine continues to be magical to this day.

Anyhow. My point is that Rafael obviously knew more than me thanks to his doctor sister because I don’t really know anything except how it feels when someone cracks your neck really well.

“WHERE DOES IT HURT, YOUNG LADY?” inquired Rafael.

“My knee”, I gasped, clutching my leg. “Ow ow ow!”

He asked me to move my ankle around, to move my leg up and down, his hand gently resting on my kneecap.

“IT IS NO BROKEN!” he exclaimed. “IT IS NO BROKEN! YOU ARE JUST FINE!”

“And my elbowwwwwwwwww!” I wept.

He did the same with my elbow, carefully holding my arm, asking me to move it around.

“IT IS NO BROKEN! YOU JUST SCARED AND HURTING!”

“Yes”, I admitted. “I am scared and hurting.”

My God, I thought. This is better than therapy.

Rafael asked how far I was from home and I told him about two miles or so.

“YOU COME WITH ME, I TAKE YOU THERE,” he commanded. And before I could protest, he helped me up and half picked me up/carried me to his chariot of early 90′s red cushioned seats and shut the door.

I did take note of the fact that the car was too old to have automatic locks in the event that Rafael was a serial killer and I’d need to open the door and roll to safety. Other than that, it barely registered that I just got into a stranger’s car, in New York freaking City, without much thought. But damn, that knee HURT and there was no other way.

Rafael slid into the driver’s seat, reached across me and carefully buckled the seat belt around me.

“YOU OKAY!” he said cheerfully, shifting the car into gear. “I’M ON MY WAY TO COSTCO!”

“Oh,” I breathed. “I love Costco!”

“SO MUCH CEREAL!” he declared.

“I KNOW, right!? Cereal is so great. I also like the big barrels of ketchup and mustard.”

“I GO USUALLY IN THE MORNINGS, BEFORE THE CROWDS. BUT TODAY, MY CHILDREN. THEY NEED HELP WITH THE HOMEWORK.”

“Oh boy!” I said. “How many children do you have?”

Rafael clicked the turn signal on and eased to a stop at a red light.

“Four children! Two married! Two at home in high school! I AM A GRANDFATHER NEXT MONTH!”

“WOWOWW!” I said. “CONGRATULATIONS, RAFAEL. How exciting!”

“YES, THANK YOU,” he said.

“Children are so great,” I sighed pitifully, leaning my head against Rafael’s car window.

“How many you have?” he asked me with great interest.

“Oh! None for me, Rafael. I’m not even married yet.”

“DO NOT WORRY ABOUT THAT,” Rafael said, not unkindly.

“Well, I do sometimes worry,” I admitted thoughtfully. “It seems like some kind of competition or something. With girls anyway.”

“TAKE YOUR TIME,” said Rafael, turning the steering wheel, passing rows of tiny identical houses. “MARRIAGE…IT IS A JAIL.”

“I…what?”

“STAY OUT OF THE JAIL OF MARRIAGE AS LONG AS YOU CAN.”

“Well! I’ll try. But I think the notion of it is rather nice…”

“OH, IT IS NICE,” conceded Rafael. “BUT ONCE CHILDREN COME ALONG, YOUR LIFE IS OVER, THE END, LICKETY SPLIT.”

“Right. Well. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“TAKE YOUR TIME. THERE IS NO RACE.”

“Okay, sure.”

“HOW IS YOUR KNEE?”

“It hurts so badly.”

“YOU ARE ALRIGHT, YOUNG LADY. YOU PUT ON ICE. YOU REST.”

“Right over here on the corner is fine,” I said. Rafael pulled the car slowly over toward the curb.

“YOU SURE?”

“Yes, yes, this is perfect. Thank you so incredibly much for taking me home, Rafael.”

“GOD PUTS ANGELS IN YOUR WAY WHEN YOU NEED THEM. LICKETY SPLIT.”

“I believe that very much.”

“ME TOO, YOUNG LADY.”

I pulled myself out of the car and hobbled to the side to shut the door.

“Thanks, Rafael!” I waved, leaning into the open window.

“FEEL BETTER YOUNG LADY!”

He waved back at me and then turned his attention back to the traffic in front of him.

“I GO TO COSTCO!”

And away he drove.

I was limping pathetically toward our apartment when my roommate passed me on his way out.

“What…the…hell?”

“I fell. Twisted my knee. Rafael drove me home!”

“Who?”

“Rafael! He’s going to be a grandfather next month! Isn’t that so exciting!?”

“Laura…”

“I KNOW. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY TO ME RIGHT NOW.”

“No, I honestly don’t. The stuff that happens to you…”

“I KNOW. You don’t even have to say it. But lucky you! THIS IS WHAT BEING MY FRIEND IS ALL ABOUT!”

I limped past him into the apartment and collapsed on my bed.

My run, ruined. My knee, twisted. Rafael, on his way to Costco.

Yes, okay. The world makes sense. Somewhat.

I hauled myself to my company health clinic the next day to get checked out just to make sure it wasn’t anything serious. It looks to be a bad sprain and I was instructed to stay off it for 1-2 weeks which is laughable for someone like me and also infuriating. My ankle has swelled up along with it and both my elbows are gorgeous. One is sliced open in a few places and the other has a lovely green and purple bruise all around it.

This is my right leg:

This is the giant bruise on my elbow plus also SAD FACE:

And this is my life.

You are welcome.

Rafael, wherever you are, I promise to avoid the jail of marriage for at least a little while longer if you promise to keep driving around Queens being a rockstar. Your car was really clean, which I appreciated. Also, you drove me home with care and concern. Lickety split. People are awesome. The End.