I was just leaving Jael's house after watching a movie. She's been my best friend for a few years and we have more in common than we can actually explain. I got on my motorcycle around 5:00 pm and left her house for church. I got there after half an hour or so. I parked up front next to my friend Kyle's bike and I went inside... but something didn't seem right. I had this burning feeling that covered my whole body - I could tell something bad was about to happen, but what, I wasn't sure. About 10 minutes into the Saturday night service, I get a text from Jael that simply says, "sauce." That was our clever pun on the old 'SOS' that most people are familiar with. No one really replies to SOS as effectively as they used to, so we came up with this to make sure we knew it was serious when this word was thrown down. I tried calling her cell - no response.

My bike was too heavy for maneuvering, an old Japanese classic. Not too mention I was low on gas. I told Kyle, who was sitting next to me, very bluntly - that there was an emergency and I needed to borrow his bike. He knew I was good for it, and I would replace anything I broke on it - so we exchanged keys and I ran outside immediately. He had a 2-stroke Italian speed machine that I wasn't used to, but I hopped on anyways and I took off out of the parking lot - almost hitting the man in the reflective vest that was too slow to stop traffic for me. What was previously a safe, 30 minute trip was now entirely different. I tapped my knee to the ground on fast turns and I skimmed really close to hitting a few pedestrians. 15 minutes after leaving church, I was back in Jael's neighborhood again.

Jael's house was at the end of the street I had turned onto, at a 3-way intersection. Night had fallen, and her big front-of-the-house living room window was illuminated by muzzle-flash as I saw her run into the room, chased by someone. Everything went from 50 miles an hour, to what seemed like forever as time slowed down in my eyes. Her attacker is standing in one spot and talking to her with the light from the kitchen behind them coming in. The curb in front of her house isn't very tall. There are no cars coming from the left or the right. I crank back on the throttle and my front end lifts up as the motorcycle screams towards her house. Fury in my eyes and fear in my heart, I finally clear the curb. That small bump produced enough lift at 70 mph for the tires to avoid her lawn entirely as the bike flew threw the air, me still holding on for my life.

First, the front tire broke the window. The glass still flying off of the tire, the rubber makes contact with the back of the intruder's head, knocking him down; he died instantly. But I didn't stop moving forward as Jael got out of the way and began to throw her arms in front of her head. I crashed through her wall and came to a rough stop, falling off of the bike backwards and onto the floor. After the dust had settled, I lied on the floor with a sturdy 5-inch long dagger of glass lodged in my left arm. I had passed out and I awoke in a hospital with her next to me 15 hours later. Apparently the glass had hit close to a main artery in my arm and saving the muscle was difficult.

That was a year ago. I have full function of my left arm again, and the insurance replaced Kyle's bike. Jael and I replaced her front window as soon as we could - but replacing the wall was a bit more time consuming. Now, every year on the anniversary of the day she was attacked, Jael takes me out to an awesome dinner at a restaurant of my choice, and she thanks me with peculiarity. She kisses the scar on my arm and thanks me for always being there, no matter what.