I Felt Special

Stephanie, once again I am awestruck not only by your insight but the profound way in which you tell it. I love your Grandpa. And his apples.

Allow me to reply with a hoot story of my own, if for no other reason than I hope it will be perceived as bolstering instead of complaining and hopefully on par with your preferred story circle—because that's something I'm working on.

I was in a car crash and it took about six weeks until they were able to get the parts to repair my car. Insurance gave me a rental for the duration, and I constantly compared it to my dear, hurt vehicle: *This one* doesn't get good mileage. *This one* doesn't have grocery hooks. *This one* is an ugly shade of inner-lip red.

When I got the magical call that my beloved was finally ready to leave the car hospital, I went to the driveway with my keys at-the-ready to drive the ugly stepsister away. I had learned to shield my eyes from that medical-sewage color for as long as possible by walking with my head turned until I was at the door.

I arrived, extended the key, turned the lock (*this one* doesn't have automatic locks) and pulled on the handle. It didn't open. It didn't open, you see, because a tree had fallen on it during the night and smashed the poor sucker flat from roof to seat cushion. Glass and branches were everywhere, which explained why the ground felt crunchy as I approached. Otherwise the scene was silent.

*This one* doesn't have a car alarm.

First, I had to pay a deductible on my own car, even though the other driver put his gold Pathfinder in my backseat. Then I had to endure more than a month of a "suitable replacement" that used shopping cart wheels for tires and hand-crank windows that popped off if your knee knocked them, which was inevitable considering their placement and the size of my knee. Now I had to dredge up another deductible to replace the tinfoil covering they called a roof and all that glass, including those little pivoting triangle-slots that dogs like to push open with wet noses.

I think I muttered, "yep, that tracks," as I quietly wondered how many people in this world have experienced a 90-year-old tree crushing their replacement rental on the very same day they intended to turn it in, and only six weeks after they survived a major crash without a scratch. It can't be more than five, right? Eight?

And suddenly, I felt special.