September 12th, 2004.
I was on a train home from the Bronx, after watching over my best friend, who had passed out the night before and needed someone to watch over him, when a young girl got on. At the time, I was already incredibly depressed about a rough break-up I was going through and couldn’t think of anything else until I saw her. She looked completely broken, and it wasn’t until the next stop that I noticed that she had a bruise under her eye. The next stop after that, with a train nearly packed with people, she began to cry, and no one noticed.
I handed her a pack of tissues I had on me and after she thanked me, we talked. Whatever I was going through didn’t exist after asking her, “Are you ok?” She had left her boyfriend because he was beating her. Worse off, she was a runaway and had no place to stay in the city and no way back home. She called her aunt, who bought a train ticket home, paid for a hotel room, and who afterwards, thanked me for helping her and said she would ask God to bless me for what I had done for her niece. After walking her to the room, I wished her good luck and left.
I learned a few lessons from that day, but one was certainly the most important: never be afraid to lend a helping hand, even if your hand is injured.