author: Nicole J. LeBoeuf

I'm still at the Saturn dealership now. There's no signal here, so I will have to post this later. (As you're reading it now, it must be later.)

I've written some really self-indulgent scenes of Diane's childhood friend reading her unicorn stories just like in the old days, and of Diane having some really disturbing dreams about him, and my word count is now a not entirely unacceptable number at which to stop for the day. I like the results of dividing the remainder by 2,000. They indicate I'll get a day off.

And I had this thought: It's totally unfair for me to complain about that unsympathetic couple at the bus stop, and not give well deserved kudos to another pair of people who, in a similarly needy circumstance, exhibited exactly the opposite sort of behavior. There actually are people in this world who give a damn about strangers in distress. More of them, I think, in Boulder than in Westminster.

So I mentioned yesterday's bicycle wipe-out, right? The road was wet and I took the curve at the speed I was accustomed to, and the bike went from vertical to horizontal in 0.5 seconds flat. It was one of those situations where you watch it happening in slow motion, and you feel really stupid about not being able to stop it happening. "Here we go... yep, skinned the knee, and there's my knuckles, and, yep, the forehead goes bonk. Whoo."

There were these two guys converging on the Goose Creek Path from the path that runs along Foothills from Pearl Street, and I confess that my first thought upon seeing them was please for the love of the Gods stop and stay out of my way. 'Cause the path I was on, y'see, it goes briefly up, and they were about to cross right in front of me at the top, and it's really devastating to have someone get in your way while you're toiling up a hill, even a small one. I veered to the left of the path to avoid them, and I thought uncharitable thoughts about what I perceived as typical pedestrian oblivion.

Next thing I know, I've done a face-plant on the pavement, and I'm trying to decide if I can sit up without wetting myself. And these guys about whom I was having uncharitable thoughts, they're running up to me and, very charitably, asking if I'm all right. See there? Instant karma's gonna get ya.

First words out of my mouth: "I bet that looked real stupid, huh?" I cry at the drop of a hat - it's often more a physical thing than an emotional one - and I had just impacted the pavement with somewhat more force than a hat-drop. So my voice is cracking and I'm leaking a goodly number of tears. They don't seem to find me pathetic for it. They assured me that no, no, this was a treacherous curve in the rain, it was perfectly understandable, people wipe out here all the time.

And they didn't even tell me off for not wearing my helmet. Guess they knew I was mentally kicking myself for that already. Although really I'm not sure how much good it would have done. Maybe it would have prevented the goose-egg on my forehead, but probably not the cut on the bridge of my nose.

The guy on my left, he actually offered me a handkerchief to mop my face up with. A real one. Probably cotton, woven linen-style, pristinely white, and he's suggesting I bleed all over it. I didn't knew people even carried handkerchiefs these days. They watched me mop up my scrapes, pronounced me probably not in need of stitches, and helped me get to my feet. While I satisfied myself that I wasn't concussed, he indicated that I should keep the hanky.

So, there ya go. Not everyone is a lizard-like reject from the human race. Some people actually care about others' misfortune. Some people, I might add, at the risk of sounding all pre-feminist, are actual gentlemen.

Maybe I can write these guys into my novel, should the plot call for helpful, kind strangers. Or maybe I'll just write their exemplary behavior into an already established character, such as Diane's childhood friend, the archetypal unicorn-attracting innocent with whom she will one day be married and have three daughters.

Because writers don't just take vengeance on icky people. If they're truly observant, they do something that's much more important. They celebrate good people.

If said good people are reading this right now... well, I washed off that hanky when I got to the office, and it came surprisingly clean. I'm carrying it on me now to remind myself, as I continue along my way, to emulate your kindness. You guys rock. Blessed be.