Women Behind the Wheel by Nancy A. Nichols

Author:Nancy A. Nichols
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pegasus Books
Published: 2024-03-05T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Jacob would eventually become a safe and considerate driver. After finishing high school, he drove that old Volvo station wagon out west to college in California, where he swapped skis for surfboards and skateboards.

I, on the other hand, crashed hard. During his illness I had been like those air bags, inflating around him trying to keep him alive and making sure that the impact of his treatment—although devastating—was not deadly.

He had survived, but I faced an unthinkable void. I had left my professional life with a single email with the subject line DEVASTATING DIAGNOSIS. His treatment had left him immune-impaired, and for the first year I saw almost no one and kept up no professional contacts; I was devoted to him. I wouldn’t have done anything differently, but I don’t think I realized what I’d done to myself. I was barren.

And then my old Honda Pilot started to go. It was as if it knew that a new day had dawned. Things large and small kept breaking on the car, and the seats ripped, exposing their foam-like interior. I patched them with duct tape until they gave way again.

I kept my Pilot until the engine mounts started to rust through, making the car veer toward the left unexpectedly and vibrate like crazy. The repair costs started to add up, and I could get barely a few hundred dollars for it as a trade in. I knew it was time to let it go. Still, I wept as I grabbed my rosary out of the console and watched my Pilot roll away on the back of a flatbed truck. I didn’t know if I was mourning the end of the car or the end of my son’s childhood. That car was my church, and it had held every prayer and aspiration I had for my family. But I couldn’t repair it and couldn’t afford to store it as a token of the past.

As I drove it to the lot to sell it, I cried big ugly tears, which led my husband to ask in an unkind voice: “What is wrong with you?” He never was a car guy, and I knew I couldn’t explain it to him.

My husband drives a nondescript, uncomfortable, and perpetually dirty four-door Volvo sedan that I call his “junior executive” car. Truly, if I weren’t married to him, I would never get in it. Sitting in the passenger seat, I feel like an egg in an egg carton. Safe, but stuck. Which of course is the downside of opting for a safe and secure path. You don’t get hurt, but you don’t really get to spread your wings or have much fun.

Luckily, he left the decision of what to get for my next car up to me.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.