The Convertible Ride

The other day, I was sitting on a bench in the warm afternoon sun on a chilly fall day, appreciating the blue skies and the wool coat pulled about me. There is something bracing about fall and the briskness of the wind, the leaves dancing about under barren trees, the mums in full bloom. I love fall.

It reminded me of another fall day several years ago (can it really have been several years ago?). I was desperately ill, needing to go to the doctor's and trying to figure out how to get there. Normally, I just 'bite the bullet' and do whatever is needed. You know, suck it up. Be independent. Don't ask for help. That was before.

Anyway, the time of the appointment was getting close, and it had taken all my strength to get dressed. I finally had to admit that there was no way I could drive, even though the clinic was only a few miles away. On a good day, I could have walked there.

I broke down and called my friend, and explained that I needed to go to the doctor's, but I wasn't able to drive there myself. I was relieved to hear him say, "I'll be right there." What a relief that he was home and not already committed to some other event. And come right over he did - driving his convertible!

He knew how much I admired that convertible though I am not sure he knew *why* I liked it so much. He wasn't there when I was growing up, looking with admiration at people who owned convertibles and girls who got offers to ride in such cars. I was never one of them. I sometimes thought how lovely it would be to drive around with the top down, feeling the wind play with your hair, tossing your head and laughing as if you hadn't a care in the world. But even if I had been asked, I'm real sure my parents would not have let me go.

The first time he came to take my boys for a ride, I was green with envy. Of course, that's not something you let on, but I couldn't help drooling over it. It spoke of an ease of life I have never known, nor am ever likely to know. I was in awe. I had long ago realized the impracticality of such a vehicle for a Mom with five boys, but for a day here and there, what a treat!

And here was my friend, ushering me ushered into the front seat of a wonderful sporty blue convertible. After I was safely belted in, I curled up in a little ball, shivering and miserable. I know my friend immediately wished he had brought a car with a roof. He could see how sick I was. I know he thought I was oblivious of the gorgeous fall day, the blue sky, the warm sun, the gentle breeze as he navigated though town to the clinic.

I was too preoccupied to talk. I was just trying not to fall totally apart. It took a gargantuan effort to breathe and hold the shivering down to a dull roar. But I *did* notice. I took it all in, the day, the wind, what it was like to be in the front seat, the looks of admiring passersby, the smoothness of the ride, the joy.

I spent the whole day at the clinic, shivering and shaking and curled up in a ball when I wasn't running to the bathroom. I withdrew into myself, taking the memory of the long ride with me, taking the blueness of the sky, the warmth of the sun, the brisk fallness of the mid October day into the dark shadows of the unknown, into the chasm of internal warfare, into the long fight to return to the land of the living. I didn't get to ride home in the snazzy convertible. I was sad at the loss, though I couldn't have survived such a trip then. In fact, I didn't go home for quite a few days.

But I do hope my friend knows how very much his gesture meant to me that horrible day, and how much joy it provided. I couldn't express it then. I never had the chance to tell him how much it meant to me to ride in that beautiful convertible. Someday, I will tell him for sure. But today, I will sit back on my bench, close my eyes, and feel the gentle breeze flow through my hair, and remember that convertible ride. I take a deep breath, and smile.