Blessing #20 -- Chopped Salad

 

It takes a special kind of person to put the welfare of others above the welfare of oneself. We see it in first responders all the time. Cops running to the scene of a crime. Firefighters running into infernos. And ad sales reps going out for chopped salad and some simple pesto and pasta.

Allow me to explain. 

Astute readers may remember I posted this story about 7 years ago. But I'm retelling it, and updating it, because I can think of nothing better that captures Deb's heart and her indefatigable spirit of caring. 

I had convinced her to go Alejo's Italian Restaurant on Lincoln Blvd.

We used to frequent the place quite often, as the bread is fresh baked and there's never a long wait to get a table. My two most important criteria for picking a restaurant in Los Angeles.

However, Alejo's had fallen out of favor recently, its frumpy dining room no longer as appetizing as it once was when my wife and I were escorting two screaming toddlers. I blame the rise of foodism and food snobbery perpetrated by countless food-based reality TV shows.

And yet, through the power of persuasion and some well-honed marital passive aggressiveness, I was able to convince Deb to go back to Alejo's. Their chopped salad is second to none. And in addition to a dish of salty anchovies on the side, this is what a successful marriage is all about. Give and take. Compromise. 

She agrees to cheap Italian food.
I agree to give up a weekend to shop for new an inordinately-expensive living room furniture.

On the way to the restaurant, it was raining. Not newsworthy in any other part of the country, but here in Southern California I've seen more water coming out of my neighbor's hose, in order to wash his two white trash monster trucks, than I've seen fall from the sky.

Heading towards Lincoln Blvd and hugging the median of Jefferson Blvd., I slowed down because the woman in the Honda Civic in front of me appeared to be making a left turn.

But then, she wasn't.

At 50+ mph the car veered left and then, a split second later, veered right. She missed the road sign by a centimeter. And then, in the middle of fast moving traffic she slammed on the brakes and parked the car in the far left lane. The door swung open and the woman leapt from the car, hunched over and appeared to be returning her lunch to Mother Earth. More accurately a non-porous cement median.

I stopped too. I had no other option. And came within inches of her plastic bumper.

And before I could look in my rearview mirror for oncoming traffic, Deb had unbuckled, swung the door open and jumped out of the car and ran to assist the hurling Ms. Mario Andretti. And hug her. And comfort her. 

I've never needed hazard lights before and despite the superb Japanese ergonomic design on my old Lexus, could not locate my flashers. So I quickly skedaddled over to the right. And because there is no shoulder on Jefferson Blvd., I had to find the nearest street to turn off and park the car. 

About 1/4 mile away!

I ran through the uneven sidewalks, which is more like a lunar landscape thanks to the roots of Chinese Elm trees bursting through the pavement. And I caught a mouthful of dirty rainwater when a truck rolled by and tore through a puddle that would not be there 364 other days of the year.

When I reached the spot where my wife was, she wasn't.

And neither was the Honda Civic.

I yelled her name in the pouring rain.

She was gone.

I ran back to my car. Called her cell phone. And then I heard the ringing of her cell phone in her purse, which was still in the driver's seat of my car. 

I drove back to the scene of the near accident and couldn't find her. Circled around again, in this stretch that had no streetlights, and still couldn't find her. Without her phone, she couldn't find me.

It was all playing out like a bad Jeff Bridges movie.

What if she's gone?
What if Panicky Vomiting Lady kidnapped her?
What if I never see my wife again?

A thousand questions flooded my brain.

After circling round and round again, I finally spotted her near the parking lot of Home Depot. She was drenched. And crying. And shaking uncontrollably. 

When we arrived at Alejo's she explained how the woman had an anxiety attack, was temporarily blinded and literally immobilized. Thankfully, my first responder, was there to talk her down from the ledge. To this day, the entire incident plays out like a nightmarish movie, shot dimly, in black and blue overtones. 

A small random act of heroism by Debbie, for a total stranger in need of help, because that's who she was. 

Note to self: need more boxes of tissues.