The only thing between us the glass…
When I got the call, I had plans.
The Family was off on a Sunday thing, and I had a notion I’d get my hands dirty, out in the garage with the car project. I don’t get a lot of time with it, so clear afternoons are priceless.
I didn’t answer the house phone; it’s never for me, so I don’t bother. But when my cell vibed against my leg, I took notice, and a voice, urgent and clipped, told the story.
Jay and the baby, side of the Interstate, broken car, hours from here, and I was off, after first hanging up and saying, “dammit,” ten or twenty times and stopping at the BP for a top-off.
The drive down was fraught with murmurs, Garrison Keillor and Emmylou Harris, the latter two on the radio and the first emanating from under my mustache, vile condemnations of all things relative, like nephews and aunts and such, coupled with general grumblings about timing and damned luck and consideration, all old guy things you can bet your father said when nobody was around to hear them.
His car was pointed north, just inside the state line in the last lean of a sweeping hilly curve, and as I passed, southbound and staring, I saw no heads in the windows, no fogged palm arcs across the glass, only the news of the day, piled possessions describing a hasty retreat. Other side of the car was guardrail and a drop of unknown dimension.
It was a few miles before I found one of those paved No U-Turns across the median and did a U-Turn, first waiting, watching for my shot and expecting a curious Statie, practicing my explanation for being there, to see to an empty car upstream.
Hello, Moto, said my phone, and they were down the drop, inside. Carrying a baby girl gets you through strangers’ doors and onto their phones. I’m five miles away, I said, and a Prius driver swooned somewhere when I saw my chance. My foot went down and eight cylinders roared me into a small space between truckers and minivans.
Could this have been a worse place to pull over? Blind both ways, and a terrifying reverse to give us a launching pad later. They were back up the hill, Jay smoking and Nat in her car seat when I alit. We had a clipped division of duties- you get the trunk, I’ll take the back seat- and before we started I walked to the passenger side to see her, make sure she was okay.
She looked up at me and her face was uncomplicated. It read only information, one finger in her mouth, a quick study of me and a gaze that said this is not at all weird, me in here and you out there, the only thing between us the glass in the window despite your effort, and I don’t know what this begins, here with the wind of the traffic gently rocking this broken little car.
An irony of kevlar plates, diaper bags, teddy bears and duffle bags spilling olive drabness filled the truck bed. Jay dropped a handful of scraped up change on me “for my trouble” and we moved her, strapped her in and blasted back into the river of cars.
Later, I glanced back. She showed me her teddy bear and smiled, said something in her language, mostly burbles and steep inflections. I took it as an introduction.
This changes all my plans.
on November 19, 2008 at 6:08 pm
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“This changes all my plans.” Hemingway needed six words. You have a whole story in that sentence. Nice.
Middle-Aged-Womans most recent blog post..Spin Cycle: Re Cycle
on November 21, 2008 at 1:20 pm
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we’ll keep it our little secret, ‘kay?
on November 22, 2008 at 5:52 pm
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Plans, shmans.
Jens most recent blog post..Good with Children
on November 23, 2008 at 9:17 pm
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A smile will do it!
on November 24, 2008 at 10:51 am
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Jen, exactly.
Miss Irma, this is true.
on December 7, 2008 at 9:00 pm
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Babies have a way of changing things don’t they, ha ha.
Cheryl Beckham
Cheryl Beckhams most recent blog post..Oh Baby it’s Cold Outside