Locked out

The very instant the front door closed behind me I knew I'd grabbed the wrong set of keys and was locked out. I cursed - loudly, creatively, and at length - then called my friend Henry who keeps a spare key for me for those times whem he tends my animals. In less than 15 minutes he arrived - my white knight, complete with British accent, just picked up and left work to rescue me.

It's not the first time. A few years ago I came down with a nasty flu and got myself into what the doctor called third stage dehyration. Henry came and took me to the doctor's office, held my hand during the exam, then stayed with me all through the admitting process. While I was hospitalized, he took care of my animals and arranged coverage for me at work.

Before that, I'd gone to the emergency room with an especially vicious case of bronchitus. They gave me Xanax to help me sleep and the next morning I was counting money and couldn't remember what came after three. When I called Henry to tell him I was having a little trouble remembering how to count, he firmly told me to stay exactly where I was, that he was on his way. I protested and explained that I didn't need any help, just needed him to tell me what came after three and he told me a tad more firmly, do nothing, I'll be right there. He got the store open, took me home and put me to bed.

When Josh had his stroke and later when he died, Henry was there. At a funeral, Henry was beside me. When I've been too sick to sit up, Henry was there. At the end of an affair, Henry was there. He is a source of comfort, love,
encouragement, humor and understanding. I hope it works both ways.