The Blue Smoke of Reality

         You get home from a long day at school and wander up the walkway into your back door, wondering what you’re going to do this night since the football game was canceled. You grimace at the thought of simply doing homework, though the constant rain outside sets the mood for this being a long, boring evening at home.

         Setting your things down at your computer desk in the living room you return to the kitchen to empty your lunch box and grab a rainbow cookie while listening to the conversation between your mom, dad, and brother, interjecting comments throughout, remembering to speak the most important, yet a completely unrelated thought. “I love rainbow cookies.”

         Everyone goes their separate ways: mom to the office, your brother to his room, and your dad following him to continue their argument on whether or not the queen of England has some specific TV as said in some silly commercial. You step up to your computer and spin the chair around, about to plop down and start working on homework when you hear a weird noise outside. It sounds to you as if someone had a giant tub of gravel and was shaking it around like a maraca, but then you listen closer and determine that it is a car pulling really hard and really fast into a driveway. Wondering who would drive like that up a driveway in the rain you make your way to the back door to take a look when you hear the sound of spinning tires. That or tires trying to spin, something eradicate the traction between them and the ground.

         Guilt sweeps over you as you scold yourself for being so nosy, but something drives you to open the back door and peek outside. Blue smoke in your neighbor’s back yard catches you off guard and you look closer, your heart skipping a beat as you see your adopted grandmother coming out of her house calling out to her son.

         “Jimmy? JIMMY!!!” The old lady grabbed a railing on the back porch to steady herself and you know you have to do something. Bolting through kitchen you make your way to the office, calling for your mother to come.

         “Mommy! Something happened next door! Grandma Helen just ran out of the house yelling. I don’t know what’s wrong.” You mom jumps up from her desk and makes her way for the door, slipping into a pair of flip-flops on her way out.

         Pushing out the back door, your mom rushes to the fence between your yard and your grandmother’s. You follow close behind, stopping short at the fence when you see through the blue smoke their gold car driven into the garage door with a crumpled back end, Jimmy’s red truck kissing the tail. You mother yells, “Helen, are y’all okay?” then turns back to you and says, “Run get your father!”

         You turn and run to the house, not taking time to wipe you feet as you start yelling, “DADDY!!! DADDY!!!!! We need you!” You see him emerge from the back and you start talking fast, overcome with worry on top of your being out of breath. Your dad takes off next door and you and your brother follow.

         You get to the fence another time and swing a leg over, subconsciously surprised at how easy it was to get over the fence compared to when you were younger and had to get a boost or climb. Now you could straddle it with no inflicted pain.

         You and your family gather around the wreckage and your dad and brother immediately go to work inspecting the damage and seeing whether or not it is possible to get the two cars pulled from each other without causing further damage. Your mom puts an arm around the old, tiny woman. “It’s just stuff, Helen,” she said, trying to sooth her from the shaken state she was frozen it.

         After a few minutes of inspecting the two vehicles, your dad gets the keys to the car and then moves it forward a few inches as your brother pulls up on the mangled garage door so it won’t scratch the hood any more. As your dad, brother, and Jimmy look over the front bumper of the truck your adopted grandmother grabs both you and your mother into a hug, in need of someone close.

         You look at the back bumper of the car as your dad struggles with the wheels of the truck to get it out of the ruts they were stuck in, wondering what they were going to do with a mess like that on their car. After some tire spins and spits of gravel and mud you let out a sigh as your dad is successful in driving the truck out of the ruts and to another spot in the driveway.

         Everyone smiles at one another as you head for the car to hear the final damage report for from your dad and brother. You stop suddenly, the dent in the back of the car gone completely, making you look twice. The only scars were a few scratches on the hood and a strange green streak which your Grandma Helen claimed was made sometime during the car’s twelve years when her late husband ran it into a ‘Do Not Park’ sign.

         You hear ‘Thank you’s given over and over and listen to some of the sporadic conversations.

         My dad: “I think the car’s okay. It may be a good idea, though, to get your insurance to come look at the truck.”

         My mom: “Remember, it’s just stuff, Helen. Even Wal-Mart has stuff.”

         My brother: “I gotta roll out.”

         Grandma Helen in compete seriousness: “Did you have a seizure, son?”

         Jimmy: “I don’t know, Mama. I just don’t know.”

         Grandma Helen: “I don’t know what I’d do without your mom and daddy. They’re such fine people.”

         She hugs you again and again, thankful for your help and for hearing her cries.

         As you wander back for your house you think about how this was such a non coincidence. ‘What if’s race through your mind.

         “What if we’d had a football game tonight? What if the band director would have stayed at school and I’d have stayed through until the football game after my SODA meeting? What if I’d raced home to get ready to go somewhere tonight? What if…?”

         Something your neighbor said to you comes to mind. “I don’t know what I’d ‘of done without you all coming.”

         You lift your eyes heavenward and realize that there’s no such thing as coincidence or fate. You were made curious so you’d look out that back door. You had nothing to do that night so that you would be there to help. You wore tennis shoes that morning not just because of a possible Spirit Train, but also so you could run through the wet grass to help your adopted grandmother.

         Stepping inside the house you take off your muddy shoes and change into warm, fuzzy Eeyore pajama pants. Grabbing a heart full of inspiration you sit down at your computer and take another glance upward and then turn your focus on the keyboard.



         You begin to type.