Sunday was gorgeous, the first really pretty day in a long time. Sunday was so gorgeous, in fact, so unexpectedly beautiful, that David decided it would be the perfect day for running out of gas in the middle of I-71 North with a sleeping toddler in the backseat.
We were driving home from a visit with his parents in Louisville, timing it just right so that Finny would sleep the whole car ride home, when about an hour into our trip, he noticed he couldn’t accelerate up a slight hill. “Uh-oh, I think I’m out of gas,” he observed suddenly as he steered us off to the right shoulder.
“Nuh-uh,” I said, “You are not.”
“Yep.”
“Awesome.”
This sort of thing--being stranded on the highway, hiking without a map, missing a train and having to spend the night in a convent—this sort of unexpected drama life sometimes throws our way as the result of human error or just plain bad luck, was at one time, sort of thrilling. In fact, I used to tell my old buddy, BethAnne, when we went hiking in the Polish mountains that I hoped we would see a bear. BethAnne, having a home in Alaska, promised me that we did not want to see a bear and reminded me that they weren’t as cuddly as they looked in cartoons, which she was certain must be my only point of reference. I would tell her I didn’t want the bear to see me. I just wanted to see him; that would be enough for a really great story.
But things have changed a bit. Now, the sight of a hot cup of coffee too near a table ledge or a plastic Kroger bag left lying on the floor will get my heart racing in a not-so-thrilling way. Anything that can even remotely suggest harm or death for Finny should quite simply be thrown to the gallows. That includes balloons, hot dogs, stairs, glass, and being stranded on I-71 North with an empty gas tank.
Sitting there in a motionless car while large trucks zoomed past us shaking my little Ford Escape, I watched intently out the back window so that I could spot any sleepy truck drivers veering off onto the shoulder. I knew we couldn’t steer out of the way if I saw something, but it brought me comfort to be on the lookout anyway. The only other thing that brought me comfort in this moment was the fact that it was David’s fault.
While I generally want David to succeed in everything he does, I find that as long as the consequences aren’t dire, it’s actually quite nice when he screws up from time to time. In First Corinthians, Paul says that Love “keeps no record of wrongs,” and I believe this wholeheartedly. But sometimes, well sometimes, if Love does accidentally forget to shred some of his mental notes, I suppose it’s okay to have one or two on hand as a gentle reminder that yes, dear, you too make mistakes.
So, I sat there, trying to decide whether to gloat or panic, as David mumbled, “Well, the sun is so bright today. I couldn’t even tell that the gas light was on. Stupid, Ford. Stupid, sun.”
“What about the needle next to the gas light?”
“Oh, who looks at that?”
Once we knew that AAA was on the way to help us with a tank of gas, we took Finny out of the car and climbed the hill beyond the guard rail so that we could wait safely away from the road. Looking around, seeing trees, fields and a pond, I asked, “What if someone is deer hunting here?”
“They don’t let people hunt deer this close to the highway and Finny has his orange shirt on so you can rest easy.”
And we did. It was a gorgeous day, after all. So on top of a grassy knoll, on the side of a major interstate, we had a family outing. We sang nursery rhymes, played Ring-Around-the Rosie and took some family photos with our gasless car.
And it was actually kind of fun, the kind of fun that comes with unexpected drama when you realize that everyone’s going to live and retain all their limbs.
But that’s between you and me. As far as David’s concerned, “Who doesn’t look at their gas gauge before getting on the highway? Seriously?”
Staying in the convent wasn't so bad was it? We had a clean bed! Haha! Um yeah, who doesn't look at the gas needle. You are patient and kind. I would have killed my husband.
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