Kvetching and Kvelling
When I was a new driver I was heading home from a Blockbuster run with two of my friends, and advanced through an intersection a mile from home. A car came through the red and clipped my Cutlass Salon, sending it spinning and over to the curb. The driver tossed two sex workers out of the car and drove on. Full of adrenaline I ran after the women, demanding to know who was driving. They brushed me off and walked away, leaving my friends and I, in the era before cell phones, to knock on a door for a phone to call for help.
The car, which was stolen, was later found behind 'a known drug house’, per the eleven page police report. The driver, whose name I’ve never forgotten, must have had quite the evening.
The Cutlass, which was actually my mom’s, was repaired. It later became my car, and when I went to college I sold it to one of my best friends, who still had another year of high school. That was almost 30 years ago.
I drive through that same intersection often. I think about it every time.
My August without social media has been a success. I’m sleeping better. I finished three books. I’m more present at work. I have been having more symptoms of my anxiety and depression, though, and am trying to find a new psychiatrist to adjust my meds. I decided that my challenge for September would be going without caffeine. I thought a break from stimulants would be beneficial.
My best friend from cancer camp was supposed to visit me in August. For the past six years I’ve been on more than that many trips with her, and I hadn’t seen her since March 3, 2020, prior to flying to Chile from her hometown of San Francisco. A lot of things have happened in our world since then, not the least of which has been she had a much-wanted baby girl. She was going to do a trip to Colorado to see friends, and then finish it by coming to see me, for a long weekend at my mom’s cottage. But then her daughter caught the Delta variant of Covid from daycare, and my friend, who was vaccinated, also got it. The isolation was too much. She needed to cancel.
A few days before, she decided to reschedule our leg of the trip. She said 'I hope this isn’t irresponsible parenting of me, but after having Covid I feel pretty bulletproof right now.’
I was happy to see my friend. I was happier still to meet her beautiful daughter. I watched her dip her toes in Lake Huron. She devoured Michigan sweet corn. I sang to her and danced with her and covered her with kisses.
And then on our drive home on Tuesday, two hours from Macomb County, a Dodge 4x4 blew a stop sign and I couldn’t evade or avoid, and I hit his truck, spun, crossed the opposite lane, ran up onto a curb and took out a lamppost in Standish, Michigan. Airbags deployed. Windows broke. My vehicle crumpled the way that it was supposed to, to protect the passengers. The passengers who were myself, my dear friend, and her perfect nine month old baby girl.
She is fine. Her mom is fine, but bruised. I’m fine, but bruised. They keep spreading. Last night, while flossing, I found one in my inner lip. The seatbelt branded my waist. The force ripped her leather diaper bag strap clean off where I hung it on a seat behind me. We had a cooler in the car. There were blueberries everywhere. I found one in my jumper, under my thigh, in my hospital bed.
The baby is fine. She let out a grumble because we ruined her nap. My friend scooped her from her car seat and rushed her away from the vehicle. A witness ran up and said 'oh my god, she looks just like you!’. Witnesses called the police, hugged us. Provided a place to sit until the ambulance arrived. They were kind. They kept telling us that they saw it, and it wasn’t my fault.
Later, the police report corroborated this.
Once again, I was full of adrenaline and ran around, photographing everything in case anything came into question. I keep looking at the photos, my cheerful car, more stickers than paint job, in full afternoon sun, in the most uncheerful tableau. I keep seeing the blue truck everywhere while driving to and from work. I keep running through the events when I should be falling asleep, trying to determine what I could have done differently.
We’re fine. It’s not luck, or a miracle, but good automotive engineering and circumstances.
But maybe it is a little luck. My friend said she felt bulletproof. She wasn’t completely impervious to damage, but her baby was.
My friend is Jewish, and her mom grew up speaking Yiddish. I know a word here and there, and I think it’s such a rich language, so to hear my friend toss around words like punim and schlep made my heart sing. I want to focus on the best part of our trip; baby giggles, baby kisses, singing TV theme songs, laughing, and a Yiddish word or two, said with such love. So, for my September challenge, I am not giving up caffeine. My nerves are too jangly for that right now.
For September, I’m doing thirty days of Duolingo Yiddish. I wonder what the Duo algorithm thinks of me. I dropped German after a trip to Europe, Spanish was a refresh for an old job, Wales was a pandemic fancy. Yiddish will be comfort food for September, challenging my brain with Hebrew letters, and I can still consume too much cold brew every day.
L’Chaim.
