Chapter 2: Help

No one heard me. Is it possible? The house is so close. I shouted again. What I am going to do now? Could I have broken my ankle? Such things do happen, but why to me? I unbuckled the strap and gently touched the swelling. It was bigger than before. I took off the shoe and cautiously moved my ankle. More pain. Should I attempt to walk? Of course not, but I can't stay here as well. I stood up, carefully balancing on my right foot. It was very painful, but I somehow managed to put weight on the injured ankle. After a couple of tentative steps, I realized that I could do it. I toiled on, wincing at every step. The fact that I was wearing just one shoe impeded my movements and the limping became much worse. I wondered if I was a grotesque sight. How can I think about such things right now? Silly girl! The trampled earth felt cold under my stockinged foot. Small pebbles were scratching the soft skin of my sole. It was so unpleasant. I walked on tiptoes within ten meters but I wasn't steady this way, moreover I was apprehensive about turning my ankle again so I stopped experimenting. Finally, I reached the house. In the poor light coming out of the two curtained windows, I saw that the house was old. The flowerbeds near the front porch looked overgrown. I had a hard time climbing the three steps and getting to the front door. I knocked and waited. Nothing! I knocked harder. The sound of muffled steps came from within. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. The door opened. A few seconds later my eyes adjusted to the bright light and I saw him clearly. The man was tall and slender, early-thirties, dark-haired. He looked at me from head to toe. I stirred self-consciously.

"It seems that you need help," he said.

"Yes," I answered.

He stepped back and asked me in.

"What happened?" he questioned as I hobbled in.

I lied back in the armchair he offered me and started to recount my misadventures, starting from the moment when the tire exploded. He listened attentively, his eye fixed on mine. I finished my story and looked sadly at my injured limb.

"Let me see your ankle!" The man said and fetched a stool.

"I will be very grateful to you if you just drive to the nearest hospital. I do not want to bother you. "

"The nearest is 65 miles away," he said smiling. " It may look unbelievable to you but I am orthopedist. By the way my name is Steven."

"I am Tiffany and I am born with a silver spoon in my mouth."

As I said that we both smiled and shook hands. After that, Steven kneeled down on the floor before me. He took my foot in his hands and scrutinized my poor ankle.

"Please, remove the stocking," he asked me.

I reached under my skirt, pulled it down my leg and below the knee. He helped me by gently dragging the tattered stocking over my ankle and foot. I thanked him. Then Steven lifted my ankle. He pressed the palm of his left hand under the instep. His movements were confident. It felt awkward that a stranger was touching my bare foot though. Moreover, my foot was smudged with dirt. When he slowly stirred my ankle, I winced from the pain, but forced myself to remain silent.