Excerpt

she's
leaving home

Overheard in the Grocery Store

           Customer speaking to another customer, obviously a friend:
          "What do you know about the job market in Atlanta?"
          "I dunno. There's plenty of hospitals there. Why?"
          "Because Meg is applying to Agnes Scott as well as American and William and Mary. And I'm thinking of moving to DC or Atlanta, you know, where she is. After the divorce, I have no reason to stay here, and with only one child, . . ."
         "I have no idea about jobs in Atlanta or DC, but I have some advice."
         "Really? What?
         "Stay here. Or go to Alaska if you want. But let Meg go."
         "Well, maybe you're right."
         "I'm right."

Changing Tires

          There is this to consider.
          One day last year Cary and I visited Hollins College for an interview. It was over Christmas vacation, and the day was very, very cold. As we drove over Afton Mountain on I-64 towards Staunton in the predawn darkness, we could barely detect broad patches of black ice peeking out from under the snow that was blowing across the interstate. Once the day dawned, we began to see car after car in the ditch beside the road. But ever mindful of our appointment, filled with the importance of our mission, we soldiered on, and arrived in Roanoke to a dazzlingly beautiful day, piles of snow underfoot and clear blue sky above. We toured, we listened and poked our noses into dorm rooms, we trekked about crunching snow on the paths, and we asked questions.
          By early afternoon, when we were ready for the long haul back to Norfolk, the temperature had still not risen above freezing. Those patches of ice might be waiting to bedevil our return trip. But no, it was smooth sailing for mile after countless afternoon mile of snowy middle-of-nowhere scenery so bright that sunglasses were in order.
          Then POW! Driving and holding the wheel, I instantly knew what had happened. We had blown a tire, the right front one. The car, bless its intrepid Swedish heart, steered straight and true, and I pulled to the side of the road.
          I couldn't even remember when I'd last seen an exit. There was nothing in sight but road, cars rushing past, and an endless vista of snow banks. After inspecting the damage, which I'd certainly diagnosed correctly, I fished out my AAA card to find the toll-free number for roadside assistance. Months ago, I'd questioned Bill's wisdom in insisting that I have a car phone, but I've been rescued by it enough times by now to be a believer. AAA would have a wrecker to us, they said, in half an hour. Or so.
          We waited. And then we waited a bit more, talking at first, and but both of us growing impatient. Finally, Cary said, "Where's the instruction manual for this car?" I pulled it out of the glove compartment for her.
         "I'm going to change this tire," she said. "Where's the spare? Where's the jack?"
          Well, I didn't know. I'd never changed a tire. "Have you changed a tire?" I asked.
         "Not until now," she said. "But I have a good party tonight, and I don't want to miss it."
          Well all-righty then.
          We found the tire, the jack, and the tools. Reading directly out of the manual, Cary assembled the jack and removed the hubcap. The lug nuts proved to be a bit of a problem, since her heft was insufficient to budge them. I lent my superior avoirdupois to the task, standing on the tool to loosen each one. She put the jack where it was supposed to go and hoisted up the car. She was definitely pleased with her own progress so far. She removed the old exploded tire, replaced it with the spare, screwed the lug nuts back on, lowered the car, and together we did our best to tighten the bolts. Cary replaced the hubcap, threw everything into the back of the car, and off we went. We called AAA to tell them that since they'd been so busy pulling other peoples' cars out of other snow banks, we'd changed the tire ourselves.
          As we headed back to Norfolk my heart lifted an inch or so. If she can read a manual and change a tire, I believe she'll do well on her own. Far better, I suspect, than I will do without her. A good lesson for a college visit.
          And she got to the party on time.
          But wait. There is an epilogue.
          A couple of exits down the highway I began to worry about the air pressure in this never-used, decade-old spare, so we left the road to find a gas station. Although these days you are far more likely to find snack food and fireworks at a gas station than you are someone who can check your air for you, I thought we should stop.
          We pulled up to the pumps, and I made my decision. Not sure how Cary the tire-changer of the self-reliant generation would judge my strategy, I approached a middle-aged man pumping gas into his pickup truck.
         "Excuse me," I said. "My daughter's just changed the tire on this station wagon, and we need to check the air pressure in the spare. I wonder if you could show us how?"
         "Sure," he said. "Let me check it for you. Pull your car over here."
          The air pressure was fine. "But you have a problem here," he said. "You've put the lug nuts on inside-out. The beveled side goes this way. Here. I've got tools. Won't take a minute."
          And it didn't take much more than a minute for him to reverse the nuts and tighten them up.
         "Good thing you checked," he said. "I'll bet that if you kept going down the road like that, they'd have unscrewed themselves and the tire'd have flown right off that car at sixty miles an hour."
          Good thing indeed.
          As we pulled back onto the interstate and continued on to Norfolk, I thought that each of the three of us might interpret this episode differently. Was it about kindness and saving lives? A mitzvah, a good deed? What about trusting in the benevolence of good people whom Providence deigns to put in our paths? About the value of a good tool kit and an auto mechanics course? Or was it simply about the role of chance in the events that govern our lives?
          Cary will keep this story as her own and decide.
           I remembered to say thank you to our deliverer, and to Providence as well.
          And Bill and I made sure to buy her a well-stocked tool chest to take to college.