It was a Friday night like any other. The guys and I had been out at the bar, blowing off some steam after a long week at work, and we were heading home. In the parking lot, Billy (the designated driver) couldn't find his keys. As he panicked, the rest of us just stood around half-drunk (or completely drunk, as Doug and Chet were.) It was at that moment that a delivery truck pulled up to the bar and the driver got out, leaving the door wide open as he unloaded kegs of beer and cases of liquor. Because Billy had driven all of us there, a hammered Chet said: "Let's take the truck! Billy can bring it back after we're all home. I'm sure the driver won't mind after he explains it."
The rest of us, while inebriated, knew this probably wasn't the best of ideas, but Chet was insistent. As soon as the driver went inside to get a signature for the delivery, Chet loaded us into the cab one after another. He then pulled Billy in and had him drive off. No sooner than we left the bar did I realize what was going on: we were in a stolen truck, and I was terrified we'd be on our way to jail. My worst fears came true when we saw flashing lights reflecting in the windows. The cop pursuing us said repeatedly to pull over, but Chet kept telling Billy to keep driving. I was protesting more than any of us, despite Chet's continued attempts at reassurance. Because I was sitting right next to the passenger-side door, Chet kept threatening to open the door and throw me out.
I didn't want that, but I also didn't want to get into trouble, so I kept begging Chet to have Billy pull the damn truck over; finally, he had enough. As the truck rounded a tight left-hand turn, he said: "Well, you asked for it," opened the door right behind me, and shoved me right out of the cab, slamming the door behind me. Screaming, I tumbled down a steep hill I would say, about 50 feet high on the side of the road, coming to rest face-down at the bottom. I blacked out some time after the fall, but I remember thinking: "Where am I?" right beforehand; I would get my answer in the morning.
After some time, I heard what sounded like an animal breathing heavily and pretended to be dead, hoping whatever it was would leave me alone. Then I heard a girl's voice ask: "Excuse me, are you okay?"
I slowly came to and lifted my chin out of the dirt to say: "I think so."
"See if you can sit up," she replied. I carefully began to sit up, feeling sore all over. I tried to open my eyes but my vision was also bad; I couldn't my hand in front of my face. "Oh, you're back is bleeding," she said, "come with me if you can walk." With that, I began to get to my feet. It was hard, but I stood up straight and took the first of many painful steps. I felt the girl's hand around my shoulders and she told me she was helping me keep my balance. My eyes were still more or less closed but as we walked, the vision in my left eye began to come back. Now I could make out what seemed to be two buildings not far in the distance. We then got close enough for me to see a door.
The mystery girl opened the door and I saw a white flash rush past us. She led me to a dimly-lit room to the right, where she had me lay down on a couch or bed. I fell asleep again but felt hands on me in this process. I woke up again sometime later. By this time, my vision had come back: I found myself bundled up on a couch in a quaint little living room with a fireplace in one corner, and a bookshelf with a TV on top in the other corner. I also saw what the "white flash" from before was: a St. Bernard. I then heard a familiar voice say: "Well, you made it through the rest of the night, I guess that means you're gonna be okay."
I was able to see the mystery girl for the first time as she walked into the living room and boy was she was a stunner: brown eyes, brown hair in two long pigtails, and clad in a cute, baby blue dress & a pair of boots. She sat down in an armchair next to the couch, took the boots off, and put a pair of slippers on. She had two teacups and handed one of them to me. "Think you can keep some tea down?" she asked. I said I probably could and began to sip. For someone in my state, the tea was the best thing ever; it helped my dry throat recover, opened my nasal passages, and the heat of it took some chills out of me.
The girl said she made the tea from tea leaves she grew out in her garden and I remarked that it was very tasty; she thanked me for that. "I'm Sofia by the way," she said, "Do you have any idea as to how you wound up on my farm? Not to be rude or abrupt, I just would like to know." I couldn't remember much after the fall -- I probably hit my head -- so I just told Sofia what I could remember.
"Well, you see, my friends and I had been out drinking last night," I began, "and our D.D. [designated driver] couldn't find his keys. A liquor delivery truck pulled up and the driver left the door open, so one friend shoved us into the truck and had the driver drive it. I kept telling him to pull over and he threw me out once he was fed-up with my protesting."
"Wow, that was extremely irrational," Sofia replied. "Not to be macabre, but do you think he would've left you for dead?"
"I don't know for sure," I told her, "maybe he's in jail now." I felt for the iPhone in my pocket but didn't feel it. "Have you seen my phone?" I asked Sofia.
"Yes, it's in the pocket of your pants here," she said as she got up and lifted my pants off one of the kitchen chairs. Seeing my pants weren't on me, I threw the blanket off and saw I was wearing sweatpants & a thermal pajama shirt that didn't belong to me. Before I could panic though, Sofia began to explain. "I took your dirty clothes off after you laid down and put some of my clothes on you, I hope that's okay."
"It is, all things considered," I replied, "but where are my shirt and jacket?"
"Your jacket is here," said Sofia, picking it up from another chair, "and I washed your shirt before, it's drying on my clothesline now." This took me by surprise: a girl who just met me took my old clothes off, put her own on me to keep me warm, and even washed my shirt. If I was surprised by Sofia's compassion, however, I was to be blown away with what happened next. Sofia was telling me how she handwashes all clothes when there was a knock at the door. "Oh, that's my father, I'll be right back," she said as she ran from the living room across the hall to answer the door. She returned with her father, who was dressed in a lab coat.
"This is my father George," Sofia said, "he's a doctor and he's gonna look over you, just to make sure you don't have any lasting injuries or other health risks."