7:45.
The Boss and I are laying in bed nodding in and out of morning-sleep, shrugging off the day for a little while longer.
Mella? My mother's quiet voice drifts from beyond the door. Cautiously, questioning. And again. Yet a third time. As though she 's giving me time to cover up my naked body or hide whatever ungodly thing that I could be doing, behind closed doors at 7:45 in the morning.
When she finally musters the courage to peek through the door, she sees me, finger to lips - shhhhhh. The Boss stirs. I slowly wave her in, eyes remaining on the little guy. His small hand rubs the pillow then rests. Peacefully.
Do you have anything warm I can take to Vin? She whispers, already scanning the piles of clothing lined against the walls in our cluttered room.
I stare at her for a moment, my groggy mind slowly chugging into motion. Vin left for work an hour ago. Did he call and ask for clothes? Why, is it snowing? Is he out helping people move their cars? Wait...no. It's our car.
He's on the side of the road, she says, sniffing at a sweatshirt she's found atop one of the clothing heaps. Dad and I are taking care of it. She holds up the shirt and cocks her head as if the sniff wasn't enough for her to determine if it's clean or not.
I nod, it is.
8:20.
My mother has left with the sweatshirt, gloves, a muffin and her AAA card. My father was supposed to be following directly behind her with a battery and various tools and automotive supplies. Instead, he's sitting on the couch, noisily crunching his way through a bowl of Grape Nuts - lecturing me on how important it is to bring warm clothing with you in the car in the winter.
He must be freezing out there, he says, lifting his spoon at me. I nod, deciding not to mention that my husband would be warmer if his rescuer stopped eating cereal and packed up his van of tricks to help him.
9:20.
All is well. Husband is rescued, by a stranger who pulled off the highway to offer his expertise. Father doesn't even need to visit the scene. And I, armed with a steaming mug, settle in for a morning of writing.
Thank God for strangers and coffee.
The Boss and I are laying in bed nodding in and out of morning-sleep, shrugging off the day for a little while longer.
Mella? My mother's quiet voice drifts from beyond the door. Cautiously, questioning. And again. Yet a third time. As though she 's giving me time to cover up my naked body or hide whatever ungodly thing that I could be doing, behind closed doors at 7:45 in the morning.
When she finally musters the courage to peek through the door, she sees me, finger to lips - shhhhhh. The Boss stirs. I slowly wave her in, eyes remaining on the little guy. His small hand rubs the pillow then rests. Peacefully.
Do you have anything warm I can take to Vin? She whispers, already scanning the piles of clothing lined against the walls in our cluttered room.
I stare at her for a moment, my groggy mind slowly chugging into motion. Vin left for work an hour ago. Did he call and ask for clothes? Why, is it snowing? Is he out helping people move their cars? Wait...no. It's our car.
He's on the side of the road, she says, sniffing at a sweatshirt she's found atop one of the clothing heaps. Dad and I are taking care of it. She holds up the shirt and cocks her head as if the sniff wasn't enough for her to determine if it's clean or not.
I nod, it is.
8:20.
My mother has left with the sweatshirt, gloves, a muffin and her AAA card. My father was supposed to be following directly behind her with a battery and various tools and automotive supplies. Instead, he's sitting on the couch, noisily crunching his way through a bowl of Grape Nuts - lecturing me on how important it is to bring warm clothing with you in the car in the winter.
He must be freezing out there, he says, lifting his spoon at me. I nod, deciding not to mention that my husband would be warmer if his rescuer stopped eating cereal and packed up his van of tricks to help him.
9:20.
All is well. Husband is rescued, by a stranger who pulled off the highway to offer his expertise. Father doesn't even need to visit the scene. And I, armed with a steaming mug, settle in for a morning of writing.
Thank God for strangers and coffee.
Labels: Husband, Writing Life
9 Comments:
At least your father was able to sustain his own life while Vin was out freezing his cheeks off. Grapenuts = Regular
Helpful strangers and hot tea (coffee doesn't like me) are good things. ec
Better yet: Strangers with coffee.
Oooh, Strangers with coffee...excellent.
How do you get your links to tell you about their popularity? Cool trick.
Love the style of writing . . . .
8:15
Stranger who works with AAA arrived and calls dispatch directly; tow truck coming in an hour.
10:00
No truck! We call AAA and they couldn't find us and gave up, we're movied farther down the list, anothehr hour wait.
11:10
No Truck! Call AAA again, they say ETA is 11:12. We rejoice.
11:38
NO TRUCK!!!
Call AAA again, apparently it's been a busy morning. Somebaody should be coming soon; we give more detailed information on our location.
12:15
Expectant ones have passed out from Exhaust fumes...just kidding! Truck arrives! We are rescued and now I get to finally go to work.
FIVE HOUR ORDEAL We do not rejoice!
Mella -You could make getting hit by a car sound beautiful! :)
Amazing......
wow.. you are truely beautiful!
I like your blog design very much. Simple yet, artistic.
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