Everything Changes Instantly

This morning I was taking a walk like I always do. The air was just a little chilly even though it’s summer so I wore a long sleeve shirt with my shorts. It’s always a good choice to wear long sleeves when you know the weather will change because you can roll up the sleeves and just keep walking, not having to deal with taking off a jacket and tying it around yourself. Not that that is a big deal but hey, long sleeves are very practical, and besides I have some long sleeve shirts that I like to wear when I can, even in the summer. 

So I was walking along on the edge of the road, waving at the people in the cars driving by, and the cars would take a long berth around me so I didn’t have to get off into the grass that was wet from an early morning rainfall. That works well as long as you are willing to sometimes have a vehicle go by close to you if a car from behind you buzzes by at the same time and there isn’t much room between the cars. 

Today I was on the edge of the road, waving at people and not needing to pay much attention as I listened to a book in my earbuds. It was a good book and it drew my concentration in so much that as the car approached I didn’t realize how close the car was to me and I jumped in surprise when I saw it and slipped on the wet pavement, right into its path.

I kind of remember a bump from the first car and a screech and then two cars crashing as I flew in the air and landed on the hood of the second car and bounced off it onto the road. Horns seemed to be stuck on and people moaning and I realized that one of those persons was me. I looked over at the drivers both laying on the road. They must have come out through their windshields. It was horrible to see and for a moment I knew that they were lying bleeding on the road because of me because I hadn’t been paying attention and hadn’t stepped into the grass by the road. It was my fault. I knew that for a horrible moment. Then it was over. Instantly.

Slowly I woke up if you can call it waking up because it was unlike any other wake-up call I had ever received, and saw a young woman sitting at a table by herself. She seemed vaguely familiar but not really. She called me over to the table and stood up and hugged me. The hug felt good and I wasn’t sure where I was but the hug felt reassuring like I belonged there with her like we were somehow connected.

Still, in a bit of a fog, I thought she said that her name was Carolyn. I told her that I wasn’t sure who I was but she said not to worry about it. She seemed to know me already somehow and smiled and asked how I was feeling. I told her that I felt pretty good but couldn’t quite figure out not only who I was but where this place was. She said that she had felt that way too when she first got there. Just relax and breathe in the excellent air all around was her advice.

So I did. I breathed in the air first and that helped me to relax. I had never breathed in anything like that before. It was so refreshing and seemed to give me more life than I had ever known. My neck that had been a little stiff earlier when I was out walking on the road felt great now. If it could be possible I felt better than I ever had even though I knew that I was getting older and more aches and pains were coming my way. But the thing is, they weren’t. I had no aches and pains at all. 

She invited me to go with her over to the big buffet that was out and we loaded our plates with a variety of food. I got biscuits, bacon, pancakes, sausage, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, fried apples, and peanut butter pie. I had a lot of plates full and so did she with different foods. It all looked so good and though I couldn’t imagine that I could eat it all I got it anyway and took it to the table.

Bite after delicious bite I ate and enjoyed the food. It was so good. It reminded me of what Grandma, my Mom’s mother, used to cook when I was a boy and I thought of her. If I didn’t know better I might have thought that she had cooked all of this. It was so good and thinking of her brought back lots of good memories of those days, of being a boy.

Funny that childhood memories flooded back because usually I couldn’t remember much at all of those days, of those years. It had been like they had been wiped from my memory somehow but now they were all back. Details that I could see in my mind and the tastes of food that my senses told me were what I had eaten way back in my early years.

I was so distracted enjoying the food and the memories that I almost missed my companion telling me that I was welcome to go back for more food. I laughed and said did you see how much food I ate already but then realized that I wasn’t full. Not full at all. She nodded and laughed with me and we both went back for more food. This time I piled on fried potatoes and pumpkin pie and hamburgers and hot dogs and roast beef and strawberry cheesecake. I got a strawberry shake to go with the cheesecake and a giant glass of ice-cold root beer in a mug. Wow, did that bring back memories! 

I remembered growing up and I would be with my family and we would go out on Sunday evenings for cold root beer and the best ice cream around. I could taste it and also see my Mom’s face as she saw how much I enjoyed it. I stopped eating a moment and just looked and saw my Mom’s face in my memory and she seemed more real than I had ever known her. She was young and beautiful and laughing and taking me into her arms to hug me and tell me she loved me and always would.

Tears flowed down my cheeks as I thought of my Mom and how good it was to remember her. I knew that I hadn’t seen her this way in a very long time since she had died so very young. I thought about how that happening might have been why I had not been able to remember much of my childhood, that the sadness of losing my Mom made me feel sad to remember the earlier years and so I had pushed them back into my mind and not let them out.

But now that I felt safe in this place, wherever it was, I could let the memories back into my mind and into my life. It felt good.

As I looked at Carolyn next to me I had the strangest feeling that she reminded me of my Mom. I thought to myself that it must have been that I was just thinking of my Mom and so I saw a faint resemblance of her in this new acquaintance. But then she put her hand on mine and it was the warmest feeling I had had since arriving in this place. It wasn’t romantic it was…family.

Now I was really confused as I wanted to pull my hand back from her in one moment and wanted to hug her the next. Confused thinking of Carolyn and then realizing I had not heard her correctly at first and that she had known that I hadn’t. She patiently waited for me to comprehend. Her name wasn’t Carolyn. It was Madilynn. This woman. This companion in this place. This was Madilynn, my sister.

I grabbed her and held her close. I had thought all of the tears in my body had already gone with the thoughts of Mom but I was wrong. So many tears ran down my cheeks and onto hers as I remembered. We jumped around, it was like dancing, as memories flooded back of her teaching me to dance when I was young and had no clue how to do it.  Being so patient with me and dancing with me to the music from her radio.

Now another memory ran through my mind of her chasing me with a dish towel because I had done something that got her upset with me. The two of us running through our backyard. So many thoughts of growing up together that I hadn’t remembered in such a long time. 

Then thoughts of her at my house just ahead of my wedding day encouraging me and being there for me. Times hadn’t always been easy for her but there she was with hope for me.

It was only a couple of years after that when she died. In a car crash. Instantly. 

And now here I was. With her. Having died. In a car crash. Instantly. Too. 

The Franklin House

Awakening before sunrise I pulled on my clothes to go out for a stroll around town. This was a new place for me, as all of the places I’ve been to lately have been, so I decided to just walk on Main Street which is where my hotel was located. 

I walked out past the desk clerk and said hello and got a cheery “Have a great day” in reply, which was just a little too cheery to me for this time of day but I smiled anyway. She said don’t miss the Franklin House two blocks down Main Street and then left for three blocks on Kite Avenue. I replied with another smile and a “Thank you” and went on outside where I proceeded to walk down Main Street. I was moving pretty slow this morning at this hour and it took my mind some time to process what she said but by the time I had walked a couple of blocks I remembered that she had said to turn left on Kite Avenue so I did. 

Wondering what the Franklin House might be but thinking it might be a tavern that served breakfast I thought I might as well check it out. I wasn’t up for the donuts and coffee that my hotel had ready at this hour and didn’t feel like waiting until they had the real breakfast ready.

As I got to the third block of Kite Avenue I saw this old-looking house which seemed to be in very good condition for its age and it had an old kind of marker sign that said Franklin House in front of it. It had an illegible date on it that must have weathered off years ago but the sign still said Franklin House even though that was wearing down also.

I opened the gate and walked up to the house and tried to open the front door but it was locked. There was a very old knocker on the door but I didn’t think I should use it at that time of the morning just in case someone lived here and might be sleeping.

As I was stepping back off the porch to walk back to the sidewalk I heard the front door open. An old man peered out at me and I said “sorry to bother you” as I kept walking for the street. He asked if I was looking for the Franklin House so I turned back around and said yes. He responded by laughing a little, asking me to sit and talk a spell, and then went on to tell me an interesting tale as we sat on his porch and sipped tea.

Years ago, he said, long before he bought this house, that marker sign had been put up on the property by some town resident that had long since died or moved away. By then Main Street was unofficially called Main Street even though it was pretty much the only good road through town and the side streets were mostly unnamed as houses were built on them. One street, this one, had gotten the name Kite Street and some locals assumed it was because it had been a good long one with fields beside it where children would run and fly kites. It was the best place around the area and the wind was perfect for lifting kites into the air and people would come from miles around to fly their kites there.

One day a sign just seemed to appear in front of one particular house. It was more of a marker than a sign and it just said Franklin House and had a date on it. Nobody thought much of it at the time because they had better things to think about and people didn’t remember anyone by that name ever living there.

As time went on though, people began to tell visitors that a long time before a man named Ben used to visit their town sometimes. He was quite a nice man and always had the best parties for everyone around and told stories of his adventures all over the country and even in faraway places like France. People didn’t know whether to believe them or not but it didn’t seem to matter because Ben’s parties and stories were the best around so everyone was just happy when he came to visit. 

Then things got a little strange because the inn that he stayed in when he came to town was struck by lightning one night during a terrible storm and though the place kind of lit up for miles around it didn’t burn down. After that, the stories started up from people who lived in that part of town that they had seen Ben running down that street towards Main Street with a kite and then turned around and flew his kite back towards the inn. They knew he was a playful kind of guy but this was a little odd for even him to be flying a kite in an electrical storm. One person said that they saw Ben running back towards the inn and that just when he ran up on the porch, still flying the kite, that lightning hit the kite and then the whole inn lit up with the brightest light they had ever seen. 

No one knew what to make of it but the next day when the storm had stopped many people walked out to the inn and it looked normal except for a black streak on the side of the building running down to the ground across the porch. A kite was caught around the chimney of the place and looked like it had caught on fire.

After that Ben left and the town never saw him again. Sometime later electric lights were installed in town and lit up Main Street and down just the one road, Kite Street, out to the inn. It was several more years before electricity was put into the rest of the town.

Then about a dozen years after that people noticed that there was a marker in the front yard of the inn. Nobody knew exactly when it was put up they just realized that it was there and would sometimes wonder when it showed up and what it was about. Nobody named Franklin had ever lived there, it was just an old inn. 

Time passed and somebody bought it and then later someone else and now this kindly old man who was telling the story to me. He smiled as he told me and I could tell that he believed the story and wanted me to pass it on to others as he and others had been for a couple of hundred years. 

The guy seemed trustworthy, the marker definitely was real and looked old, and Kite Street ran right past it. You can visit it anytime. Just go two blocks on Main Street from the Hotel and then turn left on Kite Avenue and go three blocks. When you go there you can still see the lightning mark from the chimney to the porch. The Franklin House. You can’t miss it. And you shouldn’t.  

The Sewer

The smell of lilac wafted through the air as their hands touched, fingers intertwined as they walked hand in hand across campus. Looking down he saw her diminutive figure and her long blonde hair flowing down across her shoulders that were sunkissed from the time at the lake. 

She smiled up at him, he was much taller and bigger in every way than she was, and the touch of his strong hand made her feel even smaller and that was OK when she was with him. She smelled him as he was so close and he smelled like a man, not a bad smell that repelled her but one that drew her even closer. It was the smell of a mix of citrus, spicy clove, and creamy woods and it clung to her even when they were apart. Sometimes as she woke up she still could take in that smell as she wrapped her arms around herself and thought of him.

Today as they walked and glanced lovingly at each other he bent down to smell her and take her in deeply. Then he breathed out and smiled hugely as he said softly to her, “You smell like a sewer.”

She immediately withdrew her hand from his and frowned. She stepped back and scowled up at him. Then, without a word, she turned and walked away. 

He didn’t have a clue what offended her. After just a moment of watching her heading in the opposite direction from him, he hurried to catch up with her. As she continued to walk quickly he walked beside her and then asked, “What’s up? I thought we were having a good afternoon. I know I was. What’s wrong?”

His words irritated her delicate ears. How could he be this clueless? How could he tell me that I smelled like a sewer? Who did he think he was to treat me this way?

She finally stopped and turned towards him and grabbed his beard and yanked at it over and over and over. He was surprised and pained by the tugs on it and she didn’t stop. But then finally he grabbed her little soft hands and pushed them away from him.

“Why are you so mad at me? What did I do that was wrong? I didn’t forget our six-month anniversary today. I thought you liked the necklace of the sailboat that I gave you to remind you of how we met by the lake that day and both were watching the sailboat go by. Just tell me. What have I done? You’re small but you yanked out some hair from my beard and that hurt. What is wrong with you?”

She reached toward his big face again but didn’t pull at his beard. Instead, she slapped him. Hard. His mouth flew open and he just stared at her. There was no anger in him but just a wondering look about why she struck him.

Finally, she stood her ground, looked up into his face from directly below him, and said, “You told me that I smell like a sewer! That was a nasty thing to tell your girlfriend. I showered today. You are the one that may need to shower more often, even though I really don’t mind. But a sewer? You think I smell like a sewer?”

He took it in. Waited. And then got a sheepish grin on his face. “Oh, when you put it that way I guess I should explain. But really, I meant it as a compliment.”

She immediately turned and stomped in the opposite direction again as he rushed to keep up with her. She was a slight girl but when she got moving she could keep up quite a pace. Finally, he put his big hand on her shoulder and said, “Please, stop. Let me explain.”

She walked forward a moment and then turned and faced him, crossing her arms across her chest. Looking up at him she said, “OK buster, you’ve got three minutes to explain yourself. I guess I owe you that much. Go ahead. Make this one go away.”

He paced briefly, walked back to her, then led her to a nearby bench where she sat down. As she sat she couldn’t help but smell him as he was so close. She loved how he smelled. She took it all in. She took him in. How could he think that she smelled like a sewer? And how could he tell her that and not think she would get mad?

He knelt in front of her on the grass as she sat on the bench. He wanted to touch her soft hands. To take them into his and kiss them. But he knew that wasn’t a good idea right now. He hoped that later he might.

He looked at her and said, “You have never been to my home yet though I hope to take you there when we can get away. I’d love for you to meet my Mom and see where I grew up. I suppose it isn’t much to look at from your perspective. You grew up in a big house in a city and everything looked great and the lawn was neatly mowed. And that’s a good thing. It must have been very nice for you.

But where I grew up was quite different. It was in a little village where a lot of people had small houses. Lots of my friends lived in those but I didn’t. I lived on the edge of the village in a trailer. It wasn’t much but it was ours. Mom always made sure the inside was clean and neat and we had everything we needed. I mowed the grass, complaining about it sometimes especially when I was nine or ten and wanted to be playing baseball with my friends. But as I grew through my teen years I didn’t really mind cutting the grass. I liked the smell of it. The newly cut grass had a certain smell that was different than before. I liked it. I didn’t know it at the time but that smell was the smell of home, of love.

When I smelled it I just knew that whatever happened, I was OK because my Mom was looking after me and God had our back. The smell was pure heaven to me.

For the longest time, I thought the smell was just the grass when I had cut it. Then at some point, I realized that out front between our front yard and the road, where there was no sidewalk because there weren’t any in our neighborhood, there was a little ditch. When it rained water ran through it and because of that sometimes it would smell, like a sewer. But believe it or not, it wasn’t a bad smell because there were lilacs growing there along that ditch. They smelled so good.

So when I would be out mowing I would smell those lilacs in that sewer of a ditch and the flowers invigorated me. They showed me that there could be beauty, in this case, a beautiful smell, even in a drainage ditch. I loved that smell.

So today when I said you smelled like a sewer I know I should have chosen my words better but I actually meant it as a compliment. Your perfume. Your lilac smell. I love it. I love the way you smell. Being with you, smelling you, is like being home to me. The best place. The place of love.”

She leaned over and put her arms around his big neck and hugged him tightly and laughed, “Well, when you put it that way. I guess it’s a good thing to smell like a sewer.”

The Pickup - Her Perspective

Driving my new pickup, well new for me anyway, I drove into town and towards the hotel where he worked. Actually, it wasn’t just where he worked, he owned the place. 

Dad had finally given me his truck which I had adored since I was little and I was getting away in it for the summer to earn some money for college this fall. I decided to go to his town, the place where the man lived that I had never met. My Dad’s Dad, my grandfather, and I had never met him. 

As I drove I thought about how he had abandoned my Dad and my Dad’s Mom twenty years ago and left them with just this old pickup truck and an apology that he just had to get away. Grandma always told me that she didn’t have any hard feelings but wished he had at least checked in on his son sometimes and then hoped he would have gotten to know me once I was born. But he hadn’t. He just left the truck in his driveway at home with a note that when my Dad turned 18 he wanted this to be his birthday present. A twenty-year-old truck and that was it. He was gone. 

Dad cherished that truck. He drove it all over even when he had other cars too once he got married and had a family. But I knew the old pickup was his favorite. It was his only link to his Dad. 

Grandma said that her husband couldn’t settle down but she could. So she married a few years later to a guy who was very nice to her and provided well for her and was the only Grandpa that I ever knew. My mom’s parents had died in a car wreck before I was born so I never had grandparents other than Grandma and her second husband. 

Dad seemed to do well and I think he worked harder at his own marriage than anybody I knew and they got along great. And they had me so why wouldn’t they be happy. Smile.

I never really thought about my real Grandpa until three years ago when my substitute Grandpa died. Grandma was so sad for a long time and talked about how good their lives had been together. But then sometimes she would talk about Dad’s Dad and somehow it was always with fondness. And she talked about how he had done really well for himself and owned a hotel five hundred miles away and had even sent her a sympathy card when her second husband died with a nice check inside it to help with funeral expenses. I could tell that she didn’t care about the money but she smiled to think that he knew what had happened to her and cared enough to send it to her.

Anyway, when Dad gave me his pickup truck I mostly cared about it because it was Dad’s truck and I loved him. The truck reminded me of him and his giving it to me told me that he wanted me to have something that was really important to him. It was probably his most prized possession so I know he thought a lot about it before he gave it to me.

Then when I decided to go away for the summer to earn some money on my own to get used to being out there, away from home, before college I started thinking about where I should go. There were lots of places that I could have gone but I decided to make it an adventure and just start driving and wherever I ended up I would find a place to stay and get a job. I had a thousand dollars so I wasn’t broke and knew I could get along OK until I got my first paycheck in a few weeks.

So I’m driving down the road and start seeing signs for cities ahead and how many miles it was to them and I saw a sign to the city that I had heard Grandma mention was where the check was from that her first husband, Dad’s Dad, was from. I thought to myself well it couldn’t hurt to drive there and at least look around. Wouldn’t it be funny if I ran into Grandpa somewhere, the man I have never known as Grandpa? But who knows maybe I’ll see him at a mall or a restaurant or something.

The only reason I would even know what he looks like is that I saw a picture of him in an old photo album that Grandma has of Dad when he was little. Of course, Grandpa was in some of those pictures so maybe I’d see the resemblance now that he’s older. Probably gray hair now or he could be bald I suppose but I bet he’s not bald. The pictures showed him with lots of thick hair like Dad has. And like I have actually. At least he gave me something good.

So I’m about ready to pull into a hotel and see if they have any rooms left for the night when I see this nice SUV about ready to pull out. For some reason, I looked into that vehicle as I was turning and saw a man that looked like Grandpa might have looked. I have no idea why but it flustered me so much that instead of taking my foot off the gas I pushed it down harder and it felt like I even got mad as I drove my truck into his car. I think for a moment I was just so angry at him for abandoning my Dad, and in a way me because he never checked on any of us. 

I hit his car and stopped with a thud. My head bounced off of my steering wheel but I was OK because I had my seat belt on. I could tell right away that I would be in big trouble and that my truck was a mess. I moaned and then I saw him get out of his car and check on me. He really seemed worried that I might be hurt. He didn’t care anything about my truck, didn’t seem to notice it at all at first, and was just concerned about me.

I got out of the truck and moaned some more but told him I was OK that it was just the truck that I was worried about because it looked like it was in big trouble. He told me not to worry about it because my insurance would pay for the damages even if my rates went up some but that the truck could get fixed up until I could buy a good one. I gave him a mean look and told him that my Dad loved that truck and drove it for twenty years and my Grandpa, who I never met, had driven it from new for twenty years before that, and I intended to drive it for the rest of my life.

He said he didn’t mean anything by it but then I told him that I didn’t have any insurance yet that I was going to get some as soon as I got a job. He frowned that I was driving without insurance but then seemed to notice the truck. He walked closer to it and touched the hood. Then I saw it. He knew the truck. He knew it in a special way. He realized that it had been his truck.

Then he looked at me and I could tell he knew who I must be but he didn’t say anything. He called a friend of his who worked on trucks and his friend came over to tow it to his place and I could tell that his friend knew the truck too. It seems they had known each other since they were kids. That guy knew not only my Grandpa but the truck too.

As the truck was being towed my Grandpa, who hadn’t told me who I was, told me that I could stay at the hotel while the truck was being fixed. I told him that would be nice but I would work for it, I didn’t take anything for nothing. He said that wasn’t necessary but seemed kind of impressed that I wanted to work so he gave me a job. We walked into the hotel with my suitcases and he got me checked into a room and then introduced me to the person who would help me get started working there cleaning rooms.

I started working there and would work every day and my Grandpa would be away all day but we would eat dinner at the hotel every night. We talked about all kinds of things. He asked about my life and what I was interested in and about my parents. Once I mentioned my Grandma and he asked how she was and I told her about Grandpa dying and he said he was sorry. He never let on that he knew any of us and I didn’t tell him.

Then after a week, my truck was fixed and his friend brought it to the hotel for me. I asked him how much I owed him and he said nothing that he was just glad to be able to work on it again. As soon as he said that he realized he had said something he shouldn’t have and tossed me the keys and went over to where his assistant was who was driving him back to work.

I looked at Grandpa and he stuttered and stammered and finally, I walked back into the hotel and worked my shift for the day. He went on to where he was buying another hotel and came back that evening. He saw me from his room and walked out on the balcony as I was getting in my truck to drive it. He yelled down that he was sorry that he hadn’t told me that I was his granddaughter. 

The door slammed as I got in and drove away. I was mad right then that after all that time with me he hadn’t wanted to tell me who he was. We had been together for a whole week and he hadn’t said a word. He just pumped me for information about my family, his family.

For a few minutes, I thought about just driving away. But then I thought about my luggage and the clothes that were at the hotel. Honestly, though that is not what I cared about. I cared about this man who I had never known. This man seemed a lot different now than the man must have been when he left my Grandma and Dad. Maybe he should get another chance. With me, with my Dad, and who knows, maybe even with Grandma. 

I didn’t know about all of that for sure but I found myself circling some streets and coming back into the hotel parking lot from the other side. He was still out on the balcony with his head leaning on the railing. I pulled up and yelled up to him, “Hey, Grandpa. Want to go for a ride? I’ll even let you drive your truck.”

He looked down at me and could hardly speak as he said, “I sure do, but it’s your truck now. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier about who I was.”

I smiled at him and said, “Ah don’t worry about it. Why do you think I hit you?”

The Pickup - His Perspective

She slammed the door of her pickup as she saw me step out onto the hotel balcony and shout to her. She hadn’t said a word. Didn’t tell me anything. Just drove away. There was no use for me to yell or run downstairs and out the lobby door because she was gone. Completely. Irrevocably. Gone. 

As I leaned on the balcony railing and watched her drive out of my life I thought of how she had just driven into it, into me, literally, one week before. I had been pulling out of this same parking lot when she came around the corner and drove her beat-up pickup truck into me. It didn’t cause any damage to me or my SUV but her truck pretty much fell apart upon impact. The next moment she did. Fall apart.  

I got out of my car quickly, glancing at my car and seeing that it was OK and feeling that I was, I heard her crying with her head on the steering wheel. Her window was down and I looked in and was glad to see that she wasn’t bleeding. But she looked miserable. She looked over at me with the saddest face and then started crying again. 

I told her that I was OK and my vehicle was fine and she seemed OK. Then she wailed something about her truck and how she had destroyed it and it had belonged to her grandfather and then to her Dad and now it was hers. I told her he would probably understand and she started crying again and said he had given it to her three months ago and this was his pride and joy that he had driven for twenty years after her grandfather had driven it for twenty before that. I said that I could see that and she gave me a mean look and I said I didn’t mean anything by it.  

Then she sniffled and got out of the car and looked at the front of it. It was smashed in and I could tell it would cost her insurance company a bunch to fix it. I told her not to worry because that’s why we all have insurance and at least she wouldn’t have to pay to fix my car or me but that just set her off crying again. It seems she didn’t have insurance that she came to this town to get a job and then she would get insurance. 

I knew then that there was nothing that I could say to make her happy. She was in some trouble because her truck looked totaled to me because it was so old and would probably cost more to fix it than it was worth. On the other hand, since it was so old maybe she could get it running somehow for a while anyway. It’s not like it had to look great. It just had to run. 

It was then that I looked at the truck more closely and ran my hand across the bumper that was hanging off. I told her that I had a friend who had a garage where he worked on older vehicles and maybe he could fix hers enough for her to drive it until she could afford a good one. She glared at me and said thanks but her truck was a classic and if my friend could get it fixed she would drive it forever. 

I called my buddy and soon he pulled up in his tow truck. He looked over the truck and then at me. I nodded and he smiled. He told the girl that he had the parts needed and he could fix it in about a week. She said thanks and watched as her truck was towed away after she got a suitcase out of it.  

I told her she could stay at this hotel while her truck was being fixed because I owned it and we had some available rooms. She said ok but only if she could work for it. I told her that wasn't necessary but she said it was. 

So I got her checked in and introduced her to the head of housekeeping who put her to work cleaning rooms. She seemed fine doing that and I left and went to the meeting that I had across town that I was very late for. But I didn't care. 

That week she cleaned and I finished the deal across town. Each evening we ate dinner together and talked for hours, mostly about her. Sometimes about her dad, and her mom. She said she was an only child but didn't mind. She had lots of friends and was taking the summer off before college. I tried to talk her out of working but she wouldn't hear of it. She would work for her keep. Besides, she said she would need money for the truck repairs. 

Finally, the truck was all fixed and my buddy delivered it to the hotel. She walked around it and smiled excitedly. She said it hadn't looked this good in twenty years. I said try forty. 

She asked my friend how much she owed him. He just waved and said he and I had been friends since we were kids and it was all taken care of. She didn't owe a thing. He was just glad to work on the truck again. 

As he walked away she looked at me and then just walked back into the hotel. I didn't see her all day but found out that she worked her shift. Then that evening I saw her from my room and walked out on the balcony just as she opened the door of her truck. 

I'm sorry I didn't tell you I yelled to her. And I'm sorry for a lot more...granddaughter. 

I stayed on the balcony as I watched her drive away in my old truck. My eyes misted as I thought of what I missed, what I had lost. 

Then I heard the truck pull into the parking lot from the other direction. The sound of it was unmistakable. As was her voice when she yelled to me, “Hey Grandpa, want to go for a ride in your truck?” 

I could hardly speak as I said, “It's your truck now, but yes. And I'm so sorry I didn't tell you earlier about who I was.”  

She smiled up and told me “It's ok. Why do you think I hit you?”