The Car

The Car

Hey Mom,

Do you remember the year I was 17? That was the year dad had the heart attack right after my birthday. You were so worried. I’m sure you recall he needed some TLC and therapy after he came home. I’m hoping that even with your dementia issues, you remember that year.

More importantly, do you remember that summer? It was soooo hot! The weather guy on TV said once that it was the hottest summer in 30 years. We were so miserable, especially since we only had window AC units and not central air. That was the summer you swore we would never go through another summer without central air and we didn’t.

Now, more importantly, do you remember that Saturday in August when we had that big fight? I wanted to take the car down to the shopping district and go hang out with my friends, but you didn’t want me too. Our other car was in the shop, and you didn’t want me to take the one the driveway in case something happened to dad.

I was yelling that you wanted me to be a prisoner in my own home. That you wanted to ruin my summer and keep me from my friends. I said you didn’t want me to have any fun. I went on and on and on. I was so mad. You finally relented and said I could go but you were clearly unhappy and almost as mad as I was.

Being a teenager, in spite of your feelings, I went anyway. Once I got over my anger, I had a great time with my friends, hanging out. We window shopped, flirted with the boys hanging out and just had the fun that teenage girls have when they get together. Then, unfortunately, it was time to go.

Time to go was when the trouble started. As you know, I hadn’t been driving all that long in the summer of my 17th year. As I was backing out of my parking space, I hit a pole and I put a long dent down the passenger side of the car. The dent was long because when I first hit the pole, I didn’t realize what the noise was, so I kept going.

Terrified of you and what you would say or do, I panicked. I did not know what to do. I sat in that space for a few minutes until I had a plan. And then it came to me mom. The perfect plan. I would drive the car home and park it in the driveway like usual and not say a word. It was perfect. Since no one else was involved, there was no one else to worry about. I would just park it; give you back the keys and say thank you. Then I would apologize for being such a snot earlier and go about my business. If you saw it, I would say that I didn’t know anything about it, that I got in and out on the driver’s side and never saw it. If you didn’t see it, well then, no harm done. I drove home, gave you back the keys, apologized, and went about my business. You didn’t go outside. You didn’t see it so as luck would have it, I didn’t need to lie about it. Which, truthfully, was a relief because I don’t know if I could have lied so successfully about something so big.

The next day though, that was a different story. You took the car to the store and when you came back, well, I had never seen you so mad. Your face was all red. You were shaking and saying words that quite frankly, I had never heard before. Some dolt, as you put it, apparently hit our car in the parking lot of the store. You said apparently because when you tried to put the groceries in the car, he was parked so close to our car that you couldn’t even turn sideways and get your skinny, little body in between the two cars. He must have hit us pulling in and then parked.

Do you remember this mom? You waited awhile but no one came to get in the car, so you wrote a note asking the owner to call you. You were hopping mad, but I was in the clear. You were fit to be tied but I was relieved. No lying. No trying to pull the wool over your eyes, just in the clear.

You waited a couple days, and no one called. Then you were mad that you didn’t get the license plate number of the car that “hit” us, so you gave it to insurance, and they fixed it. The thing is, you were worried about our insurance going up because of the claim but we had such good driving records that it didn’t. Which, if you ask me is rather ironic. If the insurance had known that a teenager did the damage, our insurance would have gone up for sure. So, actually, it was a good thing that I didn’t tell you back then.

I kept that secret from you for 40 years. I’m telling you now because I no longer see the sparkle in your eyes. I’m telling you now because I hope we can have one good laugh before the dementia takes away your ability to laugh. I’m telling you now because I am hoping that this memory will spark something in you and you will remember who I am. And I’m telling you now because when you get to heaven, I don’t want you to hunt down the owner of the car that “hit” us. He won’t know what you’re talking about.

Love Always,

The daughter you should've been mad then but don’t remember now