One Hour and Five Minutes

My oldest son, Evan, spent two and a half weeks painting for my Dad in California.  He painted every day, and he painted so much he had blisters and calluses and bleeding fingers.  This he did in exchange for enough money to buy a 1992 Jetta. 

Evan and my Dad fixed up the Jetta so Evan could drive it back home today.  They put in a new stereo system, timing belt, windshield, and plenty of other guy things.  My Dad likes to get cars working and looking perfectly, and this Jetta was no exception.

Evan said, “Your Dad and his wife had a Doctor’s appointment early in the morning, so I left a nice thank-you note and got going before they returned.  I noticed the time when I pulled out of the driveway.  It was exactly 7:35 AM.”

Evan called me right after 8:40 AM.  He said, “I was driving north in the worst part of Oakland.  A U-Haul truck in front of me slammed on the brakes.  I wasn’t even going the speed limit, but I couldn’t stop in time.  There’s a U-Haul bumper in my grille.  I think my beautiful new car’s totaled.”

“How’s your neck?” I asked.

“It hurts.”

“And the rest of you?”

“I’m freaking out,” he said.

I tried to calm him down.  I kept talking to him until the California Highway Patrol came and moved his car off to the side of the road.

He called me back while sitting in his smashed car, afraid to get out in this part of town.  “The U-Haul driver laughed when he heard I’ve only owned this car for an hour.  The CHP laughed when he heard, too.  Everybody thinks it’s funny that I’ve only had this car for a little over an hour.”

He didn’t know anything about his insurance and I wasn’t asking.  He’s 22 and had his own insurance before.  I figured he could deal with that.  First, though, he needed to get off the side of the road.

I called my Mom and told her to go find him.  “It shouldn’t be hard,” I said.  “He’s the only 22 year-old sitting in a smashed-up car crying on the side of the road in the bad part of Oakland.”

After four hours and lots of arranging, Evan and his car both moved on from the side of the freeway.  My Dad arranged for the car to be towed to a place he knows near his house.  My Mom and her husband took him out to lunch and brought him to the airport.  He wanted to go home, he told her.  He’d had enough of California.

I left for the airport when I heard he got a flight.  It took longer for me to get to the airport than for him to get to Portland from Oakland, thanks to rush-hour traffic. 

The skateboarder kid came with me to keep me company, although he didn’t talk much.  He and his friend spent a few hours digging in the dirt outside so he was tired.  I spent a few hours digging with them to get my mind off Evan’s situation, so I was tired, too.  I was afraid I’d end up with someone’s bumper in my grille myself.

We picked Evan up outside the airport and drove him to his apartment.  The whole way back his friends kept calling on his cell phone, so it was hard to carry on a conversation.  Most of the callers seemed to be female.

A bunch of cute girls were waiting in front of his apartment when we pulled up.  When he got out of the car, they began to shout and jump up and down.  They showered him with treats like cotton candy and goodies from their places of employment.  It seemed like something they’ve done before.

“I’m so glad to be back in Oregon,” he said.  “I don’t want to think about what’s going to happen with my car.  I want to get my mind off it for tonight.”

The girls talked about all the places they could take him to do exactly that.  The worst day in Evan’s recent memory seemed to be ending a lot better than it started.

I’m hoping all those painting blisters on his hands somehow were worth it. 

A little help? [] 11:17:06 PM