- Holly Searle
- London, United Kingdom
- Holly Searle is a writer and an artist who was made in Soho and thereafter born in the heart of London. She has been blessed with two quite remarkable children and grandchildren whom she adores. She enjoys the company of her friends and the circus that is life, has a degree in Film and Television, and has exhibited her artwork in several exhibition.
Thursday, 29 November 2012
S.O.S By Holly Searle
I have never been the subject (or the object for that matter of a rescue). I should imagine this is due to the fact that I do not recognise the need to be rescued (due to years of self-sufficiency) and therefore just plod along aimlessly falling over stationary items or down the stairs of buses without any outside inquiry as to the state of my general well being.
Just like the words of that chipper little number I just " pick myself up, dust myself off, start all over again" without a second thought. It is what I am used to, being the carer as opposed to the cared for.
But, there was something in that kiss that ignited a sequence of events that led to my first (and only) rescue and this is how it all occurred.
It is raining and I am tired from work. I just want to go home and see Child Two. I board the bus. It is a good hour to and from work, which is long enough to be held captive in a condensed windowed brightly lit space with a load of random strangers.
I split the journey in my head into three equal sections that last twenty minutes. Once I have completed one of these sections I know that I am a third of the way home.
However, as I am just about the enter the second section the bus halts. At first I think it is just traffic. But then after an unreasonable amount of stationary gridlock, I ask the driver if there has been an accident. He replies that there has and I realise that this bus isn't going anywhere any time soon. So I ask him if I can get off and he kindly opens the doors and I start to walk.
It is raining. Not drips, but big rain. Still I think to myself at least I am in charge of making my own way home even if I do have to walk. I am not alone. A young girl has also jumped ship. She and I start a conversation based upon the distance to the nearest station from where we are. We walk together. As a lone walker, I am not phased by the task ahead. But it is dark and she is unfamiliar with the area and tells me that she is glad that we are making the journey together.
As I vacated the bus, I send a text message to my date and tell him of my plight. I think nothing of it as we have kept in contact via a stream of messages recounting our activities since our date. I like it. I like sharing with him.
I know that whatever has halted the bus will be up ahead at some point. I do not want to bare witness to any human horror that may be there, as it will upset me and so I brace myself.
As my companion and I round the bend we see blue lights and mayhem up ahead. Two buses have tried to pass each other in opposite directions and have managed to get stuck in the process. There appears to be no death or injury, only a queue of cars behind each bus that stretch back quite a distance. I realise at this moment that I have made the right choice. As we pass the accident, I do not look to see beyond my first impression of the scene. I don't want to.
We carry on walking and eventually we reach the station and she thanks me and heads off and then my phone rings.
My date asks me where I am and I tell him. He says that he isn't far and if I wait, he'll come and find me and drive me home.
In the time it has taken my companion and myself to walk to the station, the buses have started to run again. I think to myself that I could actually get the bus and head home under my own stream, but I can't wait to see him.
I am soaking wet and shattered from work. But I don't care.
I wait and he calls and tells me to cross over to a better spot for collection. I do. I wait a few minutes and there he is my knight is his uniform at the wheel of his car coming to rescue me.
I look at his beautiful tired face and feel suddenly shy. He drives me home and admits to being a little self-conscious of his post work state after the day he has endured (he is a paramedic).
I tell him not to worry as we are equally unprepared for our impromptu meeting. I just like being in his car with him, I just like being with him.
As we arrive at mine I ask him if he'd like to have dinner with Child Two and me. He answers straight away with a positive yes and we go in.
I make supper, it is nothing amazing, while he chats with my son.
I like hearing the low reassuring hum of their conversation while I prepare the meal.
We all eat and my son heads off for his night time ablution and bed.
We just cuddle as if it is were the most natural thing in the world. I toy with the idea of keeping him captive like that with me for all the time that will follow on from that moment.
He is a very peaceful soul and a kindred spirit.
I like him quite a bit.
I like him quite a bit because I sent him an unintentional S.O.S on a wet rainy Monday in November and because out of the blue he answered that by rescuing me.
And no one ever did that for me before.
I feel like Mary in It's A Wonderful Life pointing at the picture she has had made for George and saying "George Bailey lassos the moon."
But I think I'll wait.
However, there is a post script to these events, which I cannot add at this present time, as I do not have any words.
All I will say is, that each journey starts with one step followed by another and then another. The destination may not be clear, but the intention is good. And that, my friends, is what it looks like on the map of the human heart that I am reading right now.