JUMPERS

Editor’s Note: Following is a page from my spiritual journal.

David’s condo keys jingled on the striped lanyard around my neck. I carried my CRV’s key in my right hand. My jean jacket was over my arm, and like bandoliers, my “regular” purse hung across my body one direction and my cell-phone purse, crossed it the other.

I strode toward my gray auto reviewing my plans: go to the post office, Dollar Tree, the noon meeting and Family Fare on the return trip. I pressed my key’s auto-unlock and stopped short when I heard no responding “click.”

Oh no! I shuffled the items I was carrying to manually unlock the door. I knew what I’d see when I peered through the driver-side window at the steering column. I left the lights on—again!

signal stick

 

I wanted to bawl. I’d done this three times since I left Florida! What’s wrong with me, anyway?

I knew my “bing-bing” lights-on reminder did not work. My Florida mechanic-friend was not able to fix that Honda specialty. I was miffed at my Honda dealership, so I’d planned to have it repaired once I reached Michigan.

I should have had it fixed in Florida. I was being stiff-necked.

I grit my teeth against tears.

Rats!

My son, David, was away for the weekend and hubby, JK, was in Chicago, visiting his kids.

I have AAA… I sighed. I thought of the time involved in calling, and waiting for help. Poof! My plans for the day disappeared like soap bubbles.

Maybe someone here can help. I glanced around and saw a red workman’s pick-up. Men often carry jumper-cables!

As I started toward the man as he pulled open the door to his vehicle and climbed in. Oh no!

Waving my hands in the air, I broke into a trot, calling, “Yoo-hoo! Mister! Wait!”

Maybe the slender, man with the neatly trimmed beard saw me in his mirror. He didn’t turn the key, but looked out the driver’s window as I approached.

He raised his eyebrows.

I panted, “Do you have jumper cables?”

“Jumpers?” He frowned. “Maybe. But, I think I took them out of my truck.” His brow lifted. “I’ll check.”

With great care, he began unloading the passenger-side seat. “If I have them, they are under all of this.”

He re-stacked items near the door on the pavement. Finally, he was able to lift the seat forward. He moved more small boxes and containers and peered into the well. He shook his head. “Nope! I thought I recalled taking them out. Sorry.”

Just then, I noticed a yardman striding toward his truck and trailer.

“Thank you for looking! I’ll run and ask that guy!”

The young man had reached the truck by the time I got close enough to yell. “Wait!”

He looked toward me as I came trotting up.

I breathed, “Jumpers! Do you…have jumper cables?”

He nodded. “But, they are short. Which one is your car?”

I pointed.

He shook his head. “They won’t reach. Maybe that man can help.” He pointed to the guy with the red pick-up.

“I’ll go ask.”

I scampered back to the pickup. Luckily, the kind fellow was still reloading his paraphernalia.

I puffed, “He has cables. They are too short.”

The yardman shouted to the bearded man. “Hey! Bring your truck over here.”

The older man nodded and I raced back to the landscaper who was striding toward my car. He asked, “Where’s your hood release?”

“In here.” I pulled the

driver door. “I’ll get it.”

As I bent to pull the release, the red pickup appeared and climbed a sort of curb so its roaring engine was at a right angle to my silent one.

A flurry of activity followed

as they attached the cables. The younger man shouted to me, “Start the car!”

I slid in and turned the key. Vroommm! I breathed a sigh of relief.

Another flurry of activity followed. The yardman closed my hood and carried his cables toward his truck. The red pickup guy closed his hood and headed for his seat. I scampered over. “Thanks again.”

He grinned. “Glad to help! Think I’ll put my jumpers back in my truck. ”

“I’ll go right to Fox Honda.”

He ducked his head. “Good idea.”

He climbed in, backed his truck and headed for the street. I waved and turned to thank the young yardman.

He had already put his cables back and sat inside his pick-up. I hurried over. “Thank you for your help!”

“Glad I was able to. Let the car run awhile before you go anywhere.”

“Ten minutes? Fifteen?”

“You’re going to Fox Honda?”

I nodded.

“Ten should do.”

I smiled. “Thanks again!

He nodded.

In a recent class, I saw old paintings of very masculine and muscular angels. The lecturer said, “Angels were not always feminine and ‘sweet.’ They used to be depicted as male warriors.”

I wasn’t surprised. I’d met two strong male earth-bound angels just a few weeks earlier in a my son’s condo parking lot.

Frances Fritzie

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