Help
Driving through the city, I often hear fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances. As a little girl, these noises, as well as the sight of the emergency vehicles, did not faze me. When I began to drive, my thoughts on their presence changed.
As a seventeen-year-old driver, I imagined how I would feel if these emergency vehicles were coming to my aid. I would need their drivers’ assistance. It might be my life that would be determined, depending on how soon the vehicles met me.
When I heard the sirens, I searched to find the rescue vehicle. If I or other cars were in the path, I moved aside and honked incessantly at others who did not until they finally moved from the path to freedom—life.
This act of creating the path did not prove enough. Upon seeing these vehicles, I began to pray for the people in trouble. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know them and probably never would. I could only imagine what trouble they were in and what I could do to help.
A few times, I even cried.
Those people, in such need, and random drivers who care only about being late to work. I care. I want to help.