To the woman who drove me to the clinic with one hand on my shoulder

I cut my foot badly on a rock near Garza one Tuesday afternoon and could not walk. A woman I had never met put me in her truck, drove the bumpy road to the clinic with the window down and one hand on my shoulder, and waited until the nurse had finished. Eleven stitches. She did not tell me her name. I limped for a week and told the story to everyone. I wear shoes on the beach now. I would like to wear them for her.