As a teenager, I used to like to go into Manhattan on the weekends--I'd take my dad's monthly railroad ticket and explore the city.
One weekend, i went in, and was about to cross the street at the corner of 7th Avenue and 34th Street when I just took a wrong step, and tripped backwards. Before I knew it, i heard a loud crack, and then I screamed in pain and fell to the ground,
because the crack was my ankle breaking in two places.
I was 15 years old. Out of my mind with pain. Screaming and crying. And spent a good minute or so on the ground like that as people walked briskly by, no one wanting to help.
Until I heard a woman's voice, right next to me, screaming for police. She stayed with me and comforted me, through the police and an ambulance coming for me. Told me everything would be fine. Stayed there when other strangers just walked on by.
As they were about to load my stretcher into the ambulance, I looked up, to thank her...but she was gone.
In the ambulance, as we were on our way, one of the paramedics asked if I'd known the woman who'd been my guardian angel in my hour of need. When I told him I didn't, he told me he did, and he told me who she was.
Over the years I'd thought a number of times about contacting her. To thank her. Even if she didn't remember me. But for whatever reason, I put it off, and hadn't thought about it in years...
Until I got home a little while ago and saw the headlines on Yahoo.
Rest in peace, Farrah Fawcett. And thank yiou for protecting a scared, hurting girl when she needed it. I just wish I'd said it to you while you were alive.