When I Had Grace

When I Had Grace

The car spun and twirled circles like a ballerina a few times before flipping on its side, then skidded, crashing into the metal guardrail.  The impact sent me airbourne, nose-diving into mountaineous drifts of snow.  The airbags collapsed immediately. 

I squeezed my rattling eyeballs shut fighting dizziness and nausea before I opened them to the dim dashboard.  Already, pelting snow blanketed the windshield between dead wipers, closeting me in darkness.  The passenger side window, bombarded by whiteness, obliterated the moonless sky.

I’m not dead, however, my aching head feels like it wants to be.  My car is buried in a ditch.  I take that back…it’s not my car.  I’m still test driving a brand new white Honda Civic.  I’ve had it now for three hours.  The only salesman, I think his name is Earl, oozed boredom and disinterest when I requested a test-drive during a sudden onset of blustery weather. Nevertheless, I needed this car for a very important mission.  I did it for Grace. 

The left side of my face is squashed against the, icy cold, driver's side window.  Taking a deep breath the strain of a taut seat-belt across my chest is reassuring.  I can hear the whistle of gusty wind and I’m soon humbled by a searing pain in my left shoulder.  And then, dread grips my heart… my loving Aunt Grace’s funeral is tomorrow.  I’m still more than an hour away, lost and disabled in a blizzard due to the damn truck driver hauling ass, causing me doubtless inconvenience.
         
My devotion to Aunt Grace is unlimited.  Even as a very young child I enjoyed farming during the summer, chatting along side my aunt in the fields, and tending to the crops that we would sell at a the local farm stand.  Or, running in the open landscape with her golden retriever, Grouch.  Plus, Aunt Grace has the same odd furniture for as long as I can remember.  It’s shabby and comfortable, layered over with afghan blankets in various faded colors of burgundy, pumpkin, and evergreen.  After a day of working in the crop fields, I would be sent to bathe in the ancient claw-footed tub, and Aunt Grace took her shower outside near the kennel.  While I was still splashing around in the bathtub, Aunt Grace would be getting dinner together, frying up some catfish and potatoes, then slicing up a plump tomato to nest on a bed of arugula.  We ate in silence, listening to flies buzz at the backdoor screen accompanied by the methodical whirl of the ceiling fan.

I once asked, "Why do you work so hard?  Why don't you just get a husband and live in a big house?"  Aunt Grace laughed so hard she almost peed her pants.

"Well, baby girl, ain't found a man to mind me, and material possessions aren't important.  They take up too much space and then I'd have to dust them.  Bah to that!"

After dinner we’d sink into the lumpy brown sofa.  Aunt Grace with a shot of vodka and a Camel cigarette, me with a crisp apple from the orchard, and have us a game of Chinese checkers or Old Maid.  Once we played Monopoly, but Aunt Grace called it a ‘crock of crap,’ adding it was as boring as city life.  “You really can't enjoy life if you have to spend so much time protecting your stuff."  Later, so exhausted, crawling into Aunt Grace's squeaky brass bed piled with ragged quilts, rolling into the center of the sagging mattress, we slept until a bird's first chirp.  I loved those summers and with reluctant heart returned home to Chicago just in time for school, healthy, tanned, and somewhat to my parents chagrin, looking more like Aunt Grace.  That wasn’t a bad thing.

The heat has long since escaped from the Honda.  All that remains is that new car smell mixed with blood.  My left arm is crushed and my toes are numb inside my unlined, but so cute, boots.  Yawning in my torpid condition, I succumb to dreamlike peace.  The on-going monologue in my head melts away.  The shivering stops.  I don’t know if a minute or an hour has passed.  My breathing is shallow and drowsiness takes over.  I’m smart enough to know I shouldn’t allow myself to sleep…

Somewhere a telephone rings.  The old fashion ring-ring like Aunt Grace’s black rotary phone.  It keeps ringing.  I know it’s not my cellphone which is tucked into the back pocket of my jeans, out of reach as luck would have it.  Finally, I say "hello" to thin air just to end the annoying sound.
         
"Hey, baby girl."
         
"Aunt Grace?" 
         
"Gracefully yours."
         
"But, aren't you...”
         
"Dead?  I guess people think I am, but I can still get around."
         
"How can that be?"

"Well, that's the funny thing...I was out back chopping wood for a fire like I always do.  I had a modicum of pain in my arm, but I ignored it and continued to split wood.  It sorta went numb and then the pain spread to my chest.  I could scarcely breathe anymore and I fell to my knees with the blazing pain.  I think my heart exploded into a million pieces before relief came.  I know I saw stars, but no white light showed itself to me, so I got up and left my dead ass behind.  Nothing else I could do."  She laughed her husky laugh.

"And then?"  I asked.

"Old Grouch came out from the fields with his catch of the day, I think it was a vole.  He trotted to my dead body, started licking my face and whining.  You know how he does when you don't pay him enough attention.  Anyway, he sat down beside me until Emma Brown stopped by for coffee.  She went hysterical and the rest is the past."

"I'm so sorry, but where are you?"

"Actually dead, but there is a down side to it. You should see the crappy dress your Aunt Mary has me jazzed out in.  Some silly chiffon thing with a lacey collar.”

I stifled the urge to giggle.  The thought of Aunt Grace in anything other than bib-overalls and plaid was unimaginable.
 
"How did you know to call me?"  I asked.

"I can only communicate with people who let me in."

"Is that difficult?"

"Most of the time, because people are always thinking. Cluttering up their waking hours with drivel, so I have to jump in at the right moment.  Except in the case of George Funston.  That old coot is too old for thinking, so I actually had to plant a thought.  I let him think he was the best lover I ever had.  I know it was a wicked fib, but he sent the largest floral arrangement to the funeral home."

"Wasn’t he marriage material?”  I needn’t to know.

"Nah.  After awhile I figured I didn't need any man.” 

"I always admired your moxie.  Got any advice for me?"  I asked through a big yawn.

"Yeah.  Rise up like hell about everything that matters," responded Aunt Grace, "which brings me to the reason why I'm talking to you right now."

"Which is?"

"You've got to wake up and stay alert, Maddie."

"But I am awake."

“Is that a fact?  And, when did you get this car?  It looks, or rather looks brand new and not the least bit affordable for a college student.”

A visible Aunt Grace would have her head cocked to one side scrutinizing my answer.  “I’m test driving it all the way to Iowa.”

“In my book that’s called grand theft auto.”

“That’s harsh.  You know I’m an Economics major.  And, I really needn’t to…”

“Concentrate, Madeline Miller.”  Aunt Grace’s voice growled and crackled.

I hated when she used that tone with me, further aggravating the situation by using my whole name.

The reverie fragmented and in my grogginess, I tried to recapture the fantasy world that slipped away through a black hole.  Dizziness and pulsing shoulder pain replaced it.  I ignored the tedious wailing sirens, but judgment came flooding back into my mind.  I forced myself to focus on the noise.  Sirens?  The glaring sound was so near and…then it suddenly croaked.

Eerie stillness enveloped me once again.  I went berserk and tried to shout, "Help me!" but the words were a mere raspy whisper.
         
"Rebel, Maddie."  Aunt Grace demanded.

She was back.  "Yeah, well, this must be a nightmare, because I have a dead person talking to me and I'm the one who's buried under snow.  I guess I'll just ride this one out, Auntie."

"Make some noise, dammit," Aunt Grace insisted.

"No one can hear another person's nightmare, besides I can't even move anymore.  I'll just catch up with you at the pearly gates."

"It's not that easy,” scolded Aunt Grace.  "You can't get in if you surrender when you have a chance to save yourself.  Now think, Maddie."

"Alright!  Aunt Grace?"

Only silence.  Convulsing into sobs, I sought to wipe my nose on my sleeve, only now my right arm felt like fifty pounds of hard cement at my side. I struggled to release my fingers from the balled fist that was pulled up inside the sleeve of my parka.

The tingling became agonizing, as I strained to wiggle my fingers.  Blood rushed in to relieve the horrendous pins and needles prickling up the rest of my arm.  Believing I had enough feeling, I bent it at the elbow and began the concentrated effort of bringing the sleeve of my yellow parka up to wipe my tears before they froze.  I lost control.  My forearm thudded against the steering wheel.  Moaning pathetically, I flexed my hand into a fist pushing it hard into the padded steering wheel with rage until the sound of the car’s horn startled me.  That's it!  Make noise.  My hand was growing cold with numbness again and I knew I didn't have much time before it became useless.  I made a feeble attempts to flex more life into it, my strength almost depleted.  With one last exhausted effort I forced my arm to extend and shoved against the steering wheel.  A brief honk was all I could muster before collapsing from weakness.

In minutes, someone scraped and cleared the piles of snow from the windshield blinding me with a beam of a flashlight.  "There's somebody in there!"  Relief flooded my nightmare as paramedics proceeded to release me from freezing bondage.
         
I sent a prayer.  Thank you, Aunt Grace...I owe you one.

Just get me out of this damn pink party dress.

I howled with laughter.  Wait!  What should I tell the Honda store?

The truth.  Does not perform well in snow.

Here’s the thing, I’m not sure if she meant me or the car.


Word Count:  1794