The Good Samaritan by Hanover

The first glimpse I saw of his body was it spinning end over end over the top of the sports car that just hit it. The car came to a sliding stop and he landed face up in front of it, staring straight into the sun, his head coming to a slow dribbling stop on the pavement. The driver opened the door, took a quick glance around and then spun off, leaving nothing but a trail of M&Ms that spilled out the door when it was opened. I suppose the driver didn’t see me there or maybe just panicked and drove off. Either way, I couldn’t make out anything about the driver, and I couldn’t see the license plate. All I could tell you about the car was that it was an old style Ferrari, fast and red. It was a bit of an unusual sight really, but I had much to do that day and being bothered with tragedy wasn’t high on my list of things to do. If I could just scurry away as well, the tale of the sports car and that airborne man would never need to be told. At least by me.

Curiosity being what it is, I looked down to see his right shoulder bent downward toward his right hip, putting him at an almost right angle on the road, making this bothersome gurgling sound, but otherwise having this peaceful sleepy Sunday morning look on his face. One blue eye was doubled in size and paler than the other, giving him an inquisitive Sherlock Holmes’ look as if he were staring through a detective’s magnifying glass.

I come from the school of thought that holds that only through suffering can one really understand life, so far be it from me to interfere with this kindred spirit who was now being so blessed with suffering. I looked up at the sky in the same direction as this curvy swervy roadman to see if there really was all that much to see up there. Being unimpressed, I continued forward wondering what my day might hold, pangs of hunger starting to well up within me. I should have eaten more than just bacon, eggs, toast, sausage links, hash browns, and a waffle for breakfast. I picked up those M&Ms that had fallen like manna, now so seductively tempting me, and grabbed me a quick snack.

I was soon to learn it wasn’t going to be a simple day after all. No sooner did I start to walk off than did a lady run up beside me with a look of horror in her eyes. It was a crazed look, her mouth half opened and eyes like silver dollars, making her look far less peaceful than that sideways roadman. I’m not so selfish that I need life affirming suffering too. I’m perfectly fine as I am, walking about, going about my business. I really wish this woman would just step aside and leave all the suffering and personal growth to that roadman and not impose it on me with the annoyance I was sure she was about to. I was trying to think fast to figure a way out, but it was then that I noticed the outline of her perfect buttocks against her too short flowery sundress, her panties peeking out just beneath the hem in the sultry breeze. A cat shot out from the bushes, meowing loudly, as if enticing me to follow.

“Thank God you came by when you did. I was looking for someone to help me,” I said, my voice cracking at the word “God” for special effect as my eyes wandered downward and upward, now suddenly interested in lengthening my time beside the roadman. My mind turned again toward my growing hunger, only worsened by the sweet taste of Satan’s candies still in my teeth. Temptation penetrated my being.

She was frantic, darting about, raising her voice, cackling and crying, as if that guy’s suffering were hers. She quickly removed her sweater and threw it on his contorted body, as if the cure to this guy’s problems was to have baby blue cashmere draped over his twisted bones and gashes. Maybe the gesture made her feel better, but apparently not the roadman’s, as his gaze at the heavens didn’t flinch and he remained as crooked as ever.

With her sweater removed, her breasts were more visible, the outline of her nipples much more clear. I was thankful for that and thankful that she removed the mismatching blue sweater from her flowery dress. Her now perfected look worked a nice contrast to the grotesque roadman. My mind began to wander, as you’d expect of any red blooded young man in the midst of all this sexiness. How roadman was able not to turn his gaze toward her meant he was either gay or it meant he must have just smashed the shit out his head on the pavement. One or the other.

They say mimicry is the highest form of compliment, so I committed myself to performing all sorts of gestures that would make it appear like I too wanted to save roadman. That way, this hot young thing would fall for me and my caring ways. I was hatching quite the plan I thought to myself. Standing above the now twitching carcass, still catching a sideways glance of her budunkadunk, I grabbed my flip phone from my pocket and began dialing for an ambulance. With erratic urgency, fumbling the phone from my hands, juggling it up in the air, I let it fall to the ground, but I did make sure to swat it into the grass so as to not overdo things and actually damage it. With my phone face up on the ground, bent at the flip flap, not unlike roadman, I held my head tightly, clawing my fingers into my temple, now appearing to be in complete frantic panic. I cried out for her phone now that mine had fallen.

She reached up within and extracted her phone from beneath and quickly handed it to me, as if she were handing me the baton for the final leg of the race, as if we still had a chance to win. I grabbed her phone and quickly dialed my number and then hung up quickly when my own phone started to ring, sighing in disgust that I was so confused that I accidently dialed the wrong number. Finally able to regain clarity, I called the ambulance and screamed for help in the receiver, having to be calmed down so that I could give the details of the horrible events that had unfolded before me. Only the most cynical would suggest I had first called my own number to snag her number for later. The intriguing question of where the phone was extracted from dissipated as my thoughts returned to hunger. Jesus was I starving!

I dropped to my knee and put my ear to the man’s mouth to listen for some sign of life. She asked me if I heard anything. I told her that all I heard was “g-g-g-g-g-glll g gll gll.” I tried desperately not to sound mocking or to laugh at the silliness of his noises. Roadman, still devoutly gazing at the heavens while I was kneeled upon my knee, let out a glumpy glump gurgle glurgle. I doubt even God could figure out what to do with that nonsense.

The blaring sirens grew louder toward me. Frustrated at the delays, but trying to watch my language, I cried out “Hurry the frick up!,“ to those distant sounds and wept a dry weep. My hand fell to roadman’s neck in a knowing gesture as if to check for something. A small amount of his God damned blood got on my shirt sleeve, like when you reach across the table to get a fry and some ketchup gets on your shirt. Roadman continued his staring contest, still not blinking, and not even thinking to apologize. I was going to be pissed if things didn’t pan out with me and hot chick after they carted roadman off in the meat wagon. Famished, the thought of a manly thick slab of meat suddenly became appealing to me, the back of my throat now salivating.

The ambulance arrived and a fat fucker in a white shirt and black gloves ran up and dropped to his knees in the presence of roadman, sweating profusely. He and an even fatter woman with ketchup stains on her shirt who seemed to still be chewing her French fries started on him, trying to get him on to a board with all sorts of straps and whatnot. The board was straight but the man was bent sideways at a hard 90 degree angle, so how they were going to get that to work without a table saw was anyone’s guess. The ambulance woman nonetheless continued her work in earnest, now chewing side to side, as if chewing her cud.

As we watched what appeared to be the world’s most physically unfit wrestling match unfold on the ground, I took a deep breath and hugged hot chick, sticking my nose deep deep into the flap behind her ear. She hugged me back harder and we both sobbed loudly, me trying to competitively outdo her, finally wailing like a bloodhound baying at the moon. With my mouth perfectly positioned in her ear canal, my tongue catching a hint of the taste of her wax, I whispered for her to just hold me longer, and so she did, telling me it was going to be okay. The back of my knuckles accidently brushed deep deep inside her thigh, but it went unnoticed from all the emotion. I was so going to get lucky.

An officer approached me. I thought to myself, “oh shit.” I had no specific reason to be worried, but instinctively whenever an officer approaches me, I think “oh shit.” He had a little notebook in his hand and it looked like he needed to fill it with some bullshit, so I was ready to oblige. I explained to him how a black SUV had struck this man and left the scene. I provided him details of what he was wearing, the strange mole with flecks of yellow hair on his face that was forever imprinted in my memory, and how he had a perfectly groomed poodle in the back his vehicle. So many details flooded into his journal that there couldn’t be but one person on the planet that fit that description, or maybe none at all.

I’m from that school of thought that says we should help out fellow strangers, and so I did what I could to save our driver of that sport’s car. We must always remember to thank the less fortunate because they give us the opportunity to help them and make ourselves in turn better people. So I looked up at the heavens and offered my thanks to the sports car driver for allowing me to help by protecting that driver the best I could from this vehicular-homicide-fleeing-the-scene-to-let-a- man-die thing that just went down.

And so they took roadman away and hot chick and I stood in the roadway just a few feet from the right-angled ketchup looking stain in the road. I asked her if she wanted to go for drinks to calm her nerves from all this hullaballoo. She accepted the offer, we summoned an Uber, and found our way to the nearest Applebee’s. It was an emotional several drinks, followed by an immaculate full order of baby-back ribs, two deep fried onions, and then a chivalrous making sure she got home safely. As you can imagine, with all the adrenaline and excitement from the day and our now bloated bellies, we both fell into bed together, not spinning end over end, but still fairly aggressively, me angling right, angling left, surreptitiously relieving my bloatedness along the way the best I could.

As we were lying next to each other, I subtly began to push her shoulder toward her hip in the hopes of bending her at a right angle, to remind me of the man in the road. She instinctively understood what I was doing, rolled her eyes, but complied, putting herself in that exact position. I curved my body to match hers so that I would insert properly.

“Honey” she said in a whisper, her mouth now pressed deep deep into my ear.

“Yes?” I whispered back, trying to pull my lobe flesh from her lips.

“Do you think you could open one eye wider than the other like Sherlock Holmes while we do it?” she asked, the smell of barbecue sauce wafting sweetly from her lips.

Of course I did as she asked, allowing me to now make out the half eaten pack of M&Ms and the vintage Ferrari keys she had laid upon her nightstand.