Wednesday, September 2, 2009
It was cold, and sand stung my eyes. I was walking alongside the trucks , along the edge of the sandpits, being careful not to fall in. People called to me from the trucks, either shouting for me to get in or to get out of the way. I obliged only to the latter.

The sandpits were dangerous enough on their own, but add humanity to that and it turned almost deadly. The sandpits that were covered probably concealed mines, while the uncovered ones could lead straight into a 40-feet deep watery grave. But still, people came, in droves and droves, to party, to go wild.

I turned a corner and walked on. Then I saw him, and his friends. I don't know what his name is, so fine. I'll call him Matt, because he looks like a Matt. He was showing off, he's that type. He was at the edge of one of the pits, pretending to slide down into it, but being careful not to. His gang shrieked and laughed and swigged from their many cans of alcohol.

But of course, he fell. And yelled.

His gang pulled him out, but he just sat dumbly on the ground, clutching his leg. He was speaking to his friends very quickly, and his eyes were welling with tears. He was hurt.

They tried to pull him up and haul him into the car, but he couldn't move. So, they shrugged and left him, and drove off. He was left there, tears streaming down his cheeks, trying to stand up but finding it fruitless.

I walked towards him, knelt down and asked him, "Are you okay?"

He looked at me, and looked embarrassed. "It's my leg."

I reached towards his leg and gently pressed on it, massaging it. He grimaced in pain.

"I think you've broken your ankle," I told him. And I stood up and pulled him up. He took my hand and draped one arm over my shoulder. I wrapped my hand around his waist to support his weight, and my other hand pulled on his' to make sure he didn't slip again. We walked like that, back to the hostel 2 miles from the pits, and got to talking.

We made it back, and he was so grateful he took my hands in his and kissed them. Then he threw his arms around me and hugged me, saying he would never forget what I've done.

Later that same week, I drove out to the pits with a Jeepful of friends. Music blasted out of the car radio and we were going crazy, of course, for it was the party of the YEARRRRR and we were invited.

We drove there, and began driving into the sandpits. But suddenly, one of the girls pushed me into the pit. I fell out, arms flailing wildly, and landed in the middle of the sandpit. The Jeep didn't stop. If anything, it sped up.

I lay there, knowing I couldn't possibly climb out on my own. I was too small, too weak, and the sandpit was steep. I prayed that no one would drive into the pit, for if they did, I was doomed.

Then I saw the headlights of some car, up high on the road at the pits. I waved and yelled wildly, and to my absolute relief, the car stopped. Somebody got out of it.

It was Matt.

He immediately slipped into the pit and carried me out of it, then put me in his car. He started the engine, and we drove off.

I began to thank him repeatedly, but he just turned to me, smiled and said, "I told you I'd never forget."

He remembered me.

And he told me, "Actually, I saw you get into the Jeep with your pals. I wanted to see if I could meet you, so I followed your car."

And he kissed me.



...

And I was woken up to see my drooling baby cousin pulling my teddy bear away from my arms.

ARHGHXFJXCKLLKLXNL.