A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE SPEECH

After over 6 years, my car STILL has this annoying habit.  But now I know what to do.

My firstborn is graduating from High School.  To put it very lightly, I have been an emotional dishrag for weeks in anticipation of this whole series of tear-jerking events.  One of the most trying events for me was Isaac’s senior presentation at his school.  Each student speaks to family and friends for at least 20 minutes as part of the graduation requirement.  His home timing of the speech took up every minute of the 30 minute maximum speech allowance.  I have been anticipating that his speech would be the most emotional aspect for me; probably more so than the baccalaureate service and graduation ceremonies to come. 

I wanted to leave work at precisely 3:30 p.m. to arrive at his school, Christopher Dock Mennonite High School, in plenty of time to relax and get myself together for his 5:00 timeslot. This didn’t happen as a student with a swelling foot arrived at my office door as I was going outside to do car-pool duty at 3:05.  I finally managed to leave work at 4:00.  Aubrey and I were snaking around a back road toward Isaac’s school and we talked about maybe stopping somewhere to pick up some corny flowers to give Isaac after he was done speaking.  Just after making a turn, as if by providence, we approached the sign for a local florist.  I suggested we stop.  “Perfect!” Aubrey responded.  I pulled into their back driveway, effectively blocking the entire thing, and parked “briefly” as I was just planning to run in for a quick purchase and come right back out.  Though the inside door was open, there was a CLOSED sign hanging on the door and I decided to forgo the flower idea. 

Starting up the car, I attempted to put my Volvo into reverse.  It wouldn’t budge from PARK.  I tapped the break, turned the steering wheel, and tried again.  Nothing.  I turned off the car and tried the entire process again without success.  I began to panic.  I attempted to squeeze the shifter (clearly the wrong terminology) and lift it up slightly.  An alarming silver rod suddenly poked up through the leather covering.  This was not a good thing.  Even I know that little silver rod belongs inside the ball I’m holding.  I tried to lift the ball to get the silver rod back into place and an even more alarming thing occurred. 

The entire shifter, complete with leather covering, appalling silver rod, and now the entire fake mahogany console LIFTED OUT from the center of my car.  “Mommy, I’m scared!,”  came from the back seat.  “This can’t be happening!”  came from the front. 

I tried to call Jim at work.  His phone line was busy.  I ran back up to the florist door and started pounding.  There was no answer.  I tried Jim again. Still busy.  I noted the phone number on the sign in the front yard and left the following (now hysterical and nearly sobbing) message on the machine.  “My name is Brenda Shelly.  I’m really sorry, but my car is stuck in your driveway and is blocking everything from going in or out.  I was on my way to my son’s senior speech at his school (sob, sob) and tried to stop to pick up some flowers to give him when he was done (sob, sob) and I didn’t think I would get stuck in your driveway (sob, sob) and now I’m afraid I won’t even get to hear him speak (sob, sob) and I can’t believe this is happening to me (sob, sob) and my husband won’t hang up the stupid phone at work so I can call him (sob, sob) and I’m really sorry, and I’ll get my car out of your driveway as soon as I can (sob, sob) and my phone number is 215-368-XXXX (sob, sob!) 

I hung up and tried Jim again.  Still busy.  I called his office again and this time asked for Jim’s boss.  In my entire life I’ve only spoken to this man once or twice.  This time a little more controlled, but still hysterically crying, “This is an emergency!  Jim has been on his stupid phone forever and I need him to HANG UP NOW and call me on my cell phone.”  My phone rang moments later, and I tried to explain my plight to my husband.  He reassured me, told me he would come and get us, and that we would make it to the speech on time.  “Daddy’s coming!”  I told Aubrey.  My dear daughter, all this while, was sitting in the back seat praying hard “Please don’t let my mother lose it.  Please God, I want to hear my brother’s speech….” 

We gathered our things and waited outside the car in the shade of a tree.  Five minutes later my phone rang.  It was Jim.  “You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve got a flat tire.”  I totally LOST IT.  Jim started asking me questions again about what exactly happened with my car.  I cut him off.  “WE’RE WASTING TIME!  You’ve got to find a ride; I’VE got to find a ride!”  We hung up. 

I tried to make out the names on the face of my cell phone screen to call my father’s cell phone as he would be on his way over to the school right at that moment.  I couldn’t see past the stupid tears in my eyes. 

Just at that moment, an older woman emerges from the flower shop.  “Oh Honey!  I just heard your message!  Where are you trying to go?”  “Christopher Dock!” I sobbed.  She ran back into the shop for her car keys.

She came out moments later and we got into a tiny sports car, a two-seater; and Aubrey climbed back into the hatchback.  The kind lady couldn’t get her car around my stranded vehicle, and as I began a new panic, she took control.  “Don’t worry honey; we’re going through the lawn!”  She drove over bumps and mounds and out onto the road without batting an eye.  I couldn’t stop the flow of tears and couldn’t speak too coherently, but there was some conversation in the car without my help.  The woman kept saying things like, “There, there, honey – it’s all going to be okay – we’re going to get you there in time – it’s going to be a happy time – don’t worry about your car – we’re almost there…”  Aubrey, by way of explanation from her squashed position in the back of the car offered, “My mom has been pretty emotional all week….” 

I’m certain she must have been extremely thankful to get me and my nose-honking slobbery out of her car.  Soon after she efficiently dropped us off at the front door of the school, my cell phone rang again.  It was Jim.  He had explained his dilemma to the mechanics at the company garage and they quickly plugged his tire for him.  He was on his way.

Isaac’s speech was beautiful.  Having spent most, if not all of my tears on the drive to the speech, I was pretty composed for the actual event.  We enjoyed a lovely dinner afterward.  Jim went back to the scene of the crime and somehow managed to put all of the offending pieces of my car back into the correct order.  I drove my car home that night. We discovered some weeks later that if the key is not turned to the exactly correct position, the engine will start but little things like window controls and putting the car into gear will not function.

I’m wondering if Jim would have made it to the speech with his flat tire, had he not received the distress call which caused him to attempt departure sooner than anticipated. 

It was one more story for the collection of nonsense and the sometimes painstakingly slow wisdom which defines and ultimately helps direct my life. One more moment to be thankful that I am surrounded by people who will laugh and cry with me; not the least of whom was an angel, who is apparently also a florist.