Jake sent me this the other morning. He leaves for work well before sunrise. Next time I stay over there, I need to stay up a lot later. Still, it warms my heart that my son looks up, sees this glory, and takes the time to share it.
Wednesday I was able to go about my business, not 100%, but well enough to start working down the list of Things To Do before a road trip.
I was at the Grease Monkey getting an oil change when one of the techs took a phone call, then told his boss, "Gotta go. Something at the school."
He pulled on his helmet and roared off on his rice rocket not knowing if his loved ones or neighbors' kids were dead, wounded, or alive. Jake works in Winder. The insanity nudges closer.
***
Later, I parked in the shade and was in the back seat getting a little misty-eyed as I wiped away pre-school-sized handprints from the windows. Jack Flash is a 2010 Honda Accord Coupe. There is barely room to hang my ass on the slippery leather back seat. Years worth of crummified McDonald's fries hid in the corners.
The front passenger seat unlatches and rolls well forward, both doors were open to the fresh breezes. Music played from my phone through the hefty car speakers. I turned to consider my exit and somehow slipped off the seat onto the floor, ass first, my legs sticking out the door.
I looked around for handholds and found nothing. I could see the blue sky and crossed my legs nonchalantly. Waggled my sandal in case anyone passing by might see me and be concerned that I was dead.
Tried again to heave myself out of the hole. Not happening. Upper body strength (as opposed to lower body weight) has never been my forte. When the PE teacher showed us the rope that we were to climb, I walked out of the class and took a detention. Trees I could climb, ropes? Bitch, please.
I took a moment to wipe sweat from my eyes with a Windex and grime-sodden paper towel. My personal terror, Claustrophobia, tried to make noise but I refused it any play. Panic is as self-indulgent as it is unproductive.
I was able to reach my phone in its fancy new cup-holder cradle. Called Colin, who did not pick up even though I knew he was in the house. Messaged him, "Come out to the car. I need help." The worst-case scenario was calling 911. Firehouse 25 is five minutes away and only hires the hunkiest guys. I gathered my strength for a legit try at the new Olympic sport of hauling one's bacon out of the back seat of a Honda.
Before I could go for the gold, Colin appeared, hand extended, a grim look on his face, shaking his head, almost ready to laugh.
Both of them, their father's sons.
3 comments:
I confess I looked to see where Winder was/is … too close
Oh gosh Deb. I was wondering how close and thinking about you. (((hugs)))
Oh Boy- I can see my Son's face if he was reaching his hand down to me stuck in the car. Would possibly rather stay in the car forever.....well, until I had to pee. Which of course...I would need to do.
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