In the gloaming, a ray of light
My hero arrived not in shining armour but sneakers, shorts and a hoodie with “Raglan” written on it. He walked across the carpark. He asked “you OK?” and “do you need a hand?”.
These were rhetorical questions but I told him no, not really and oh, yes please. I told him I had just been getting ready to burst into great big sorry-for-myself tears.
“We can't have that,“said my hero, ”there’s no need for any of that at all.“
My hero arrived in the half hour that comes just before evening turns into night. It wasn’t yet dark but it was about to be; cars had their headlights on as they cruised on past.
By then I’d been in the carpark a good hour: winding up the jack, scrambling through my boot, peering under the car, swearing, trying to turn the thingy, and sitting on the concrete googling “how to loosen tight wheel nuts”.
I’d wound the jack down because that’s what the internet said to do; I stood on the tool I’d fitted onto a nut. I hit the tool with my sandal, a spanner, the jack. I jumped up and down on it, scraped my shin.
I rang around the folks who either owe me a favour or like me enough to come and help. The latter couldn’t come, though said I really should carry a mallet for these very occasions; the former volunteered someone else who’d be able to assist.
I told them I’d be fine then googled “how to make new friends in your 40s” and “what are the signs you’re a narcissist”. I got grease all over my phone, skinned a knuckle on the ground, and unearthed an ancient feijoa lolly from the pouch the tools were in.
The dog wanted to get out but I was worried he’d wander into traffic, just wander off or lift his leg on me while I was sitting on the ground staring at the tyre.
He sat in the backseat and I sat next to the car; both of us made pitiful little whining sounds.
My hero arrived in the way that heroes always do: right when you’re absolutely sure they won’t.
Mine said there was a bit of a trick to removing wheel nuts but really he was only being nice. He did what I’d been trying to do for ages as I stood and watched.
I said things like “wow that’s great”, and “gosh that took me ages”. Prone to exaggeration I also said things like “you have quite literally saved my life” and “now I’m indebted until I save yours”.
We were, remember, in a carpark. I could have walked 30 steps to use the petrol station toilet or bought a pizza from the shop next door but that wasn’t the point.
Another man arrived as the original one was balancing the new tyre in place. It was a tag team of heroes; the first tapped out and the second took over.
Quick as a flash, he put the nuts back on, wound down the jack, tightened everything up and put the stuffed tyre into my boot.
He did all of this saying things like no worries; all good; piece of piss.
It took him just a few minutes to do it and it took until I was driving away that my great big grateful-for-strangers tears began.
It had been a long day after a long week in an already long year. It was nearly dark by then.
One of my heroes lives in Paekākāriki; the other drives a ute. Your kindness meant so much last Saturday.