As the guys and I all discussed where we were going to bed down for the night, I noticed what appeared to be a couple fighting about 100 yards away in the same parking lot.  The girl seemed upset.  The man seems confused and helpless.  I chuckled to myself as I have been in that same spot many times.  I paid them little attention as we finally settled on a plan of action for the night.  It was at about that precise moment that out of the corner of my eye I saw the girl violently throw her cell phone to the ground, causing it to burst into a myriad of pieces.  She then threw her glasses across the parking lot and then emptied her pockets by tossing any and everything in them everywhere.  The girl then began to march out of the parking lot and into the darkness that is Houston, TX at 3am on a Friday night.

It was at this point that I decided to get involved.

I approached the man, keeping an eye on the girl as she disappeared around the corner of the building across the street.  The man was stumbling about trying to pick up the pieces of the cell phone.  I bent over and picked up her glasses and whatever else was formerly the contents of her pockets.  This turned out to be her driver’s license and her credit card.  I asked the man “is everything alright with your friend?”  He said to me, “she is really upset.”  “At you?“  I questioned.  He said, “No, I just met her tonight, I was trying help her.”  I continued to question him, “why did she smash her cell?”  “That was my cell phone,” said the extremely intoxicated man.  I sort of chuckled to myself.

I turned back to look across the street to see where the girl was, she was gone.  I knew at this moment that no one was going to help this person.  It had to be me.

I turned to the rest of the squint boys and the pile of equipment that still hadn’t made it into our trailer and said it was time to go.  We loaded up the equipment in record time and I managed to wrangle them all into the vehicle and at 3:20am we pulled out of the parking lot of the 19^th Hole.

I drove across the street into the parking lot of what turned out to be an H.E.B. grocery store parking lot.  The store was closed, but well lit.  I looked around for where I thought a completely pissed off and drunk female might go – I saw nothing.  I wasn’t sure where she would have gone, so I just took a wild guess.  I pulled up to the I-45 service road that passed in front of the grocery store and looked to my left.

About 2 city blocks down the completely unlit service road, I thought I saw the shadow of a person walking in the grass along the side of the road.  I backed the van and trailer up into a spot and hopped out.  As I approached the service road again on foot this time, I again looked to my left.  This time I was certain I saw the girl.  She was now crawling down the service road, smack in the middle of the right lane.  Cars were coming at full speed and she was in a poorly lit area wearing black.  I broke into a full on Heisman trophy run.  As I was running I thought I better know her name when I get to her – so I pulled out her I.D. – “Cary” it said. 

With cars whipping by both of us now, I reached the girl.  There she was, on her hands and knees, crawling, or more accurately, dragging herself.  Her hands were wet and covered in what appeared to be blood.  I thought, “oh God this girl’s been hit by a car.”  I looked back down the service road and saw a car pulled over and 2 people getting out.  This further cemented in my head that she’s been nailed by a car.  I said “hey!”  She looked up at me and started screaming.  I’m not a scary person, but at 3am on a dark road, a shaved headed guy doesn’t look the friendliest.  She started trying to back away.  I have dealt with enough drunk people in my day to know that knowing a drunk’s name goes a long way.  I said to her, “Cary!  Are you okay?”  This stopped her screaming.  I saw her brain think: “this guy knows my name.”

I grabbed her and dragged her out of the service road; cars whipping past us at 55+ mph.  It was about this time that the couple approached.  I yelled at the man, “do you have a phone?  Call 9-1-1!”  I still wasn’t sure what was going on, but now she was out of the street and safe.  I looked down my clothes; I was covered in blood…no wait, that’s not blood after all.  It was mud.  “Thank God,” I thought, “she hasn’t been hit by a car.” 

“Cary, where were you going?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“What were you doing in the middle of the road?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.

The man was now off the phone.  I asked for his help and picked her up and carried her back to the grocery store parking lot.  We set her down on the curb.  I then turned to the man and said, “Did you call 9-1-1?”

“No,” said the man, “if I call 9-1-1 then they are going to arrest her.  I don’t really think that is necessary.  We will take her to a friend’s house or something.  She’s had a rough night and doesn’t need to have any more trouble.”