READY, SET, GO!
By Arlene Levin
(c) 2019
It was 1967, the year of "The Summer of Love". "San Francisco with flowers in your Hair". The soundtrack was "Sex and Drugs and Rockin' Roll". This was two years before "Woodstock". In New York, the musical "Hair" was in previews on Broadway.
And Michael and I were living in Amherst, a small college town in Western Massachusetts. Michael studied for his master's degree and I taught school. As native Chicagoans, small town living sometimes got us down. We knew we were ready for a trip to New York City when at 5:00 pm we could almost hear the rapid closing of imaginary shutters BAM BAM BAM as the town prepared for another long dark night. The cure was an occasional weekend injection of the city's frenetic energy. We needed to be "jostled by the crowds"
For the summer, we decided to move to New York City. We rented a little furnished apartment on the Upper west side. Everything was in place for our "Summer of Love". We chose to fly, thus sparing our 2 cats, Cricket and Caitlyn, the arduous 5 hour bus ride. We could have taken the one hour shuttle bus to the airport but we decided, against our better judgment, to accept a ride from our dear friend, Barbara.
We lovingly called her Mad Barbara Bong. She was an eccentric, born and raised in New York City. In our small community, big city refugees like us needed the companionship of others on those occasional dark, claustrophobic days when the walls seemed to be caving in.
Barbara and I met when we taught at the same school. After one year Barbara lost her job. I think the final straw was during a Professional Development Day. Barbara left her 5 year old son Peter in her car, in the school parking lot, watched over by Stella, her huge white German Sheppard. After her dismissal at the end of the school year, Barbara stayed in Amherst and went on welfare. In this small town there was little employment opportunity for a woman with her odd sense of responsibility.
Barbara picked us up in her huge 1958 turquoise Oldsmobile sedan. Late as usual, Barbara arrived just as it started to rain. Quickly we piled into the car, 2 cats in carriers, luggage and our increasing feelings of trepidation. It started to rain a little harder as we pulled away from the curb. Determined, Barbara kept repeating, "don't worry I'm going to get you there in time".
Barbara was a single parent with two children. Eight year old Tammy was in the back seat with me and the two cats. Peter, her brother was in the front seat with Michael. The storm began to build. On the highway I noticed cars pulling over to the side of the road in the face of a now torrential rainstorm. This didn't stop our intrepid driver. As sheets of rain blurred the road, Barbara's speed increased with her resolve "I am going to get you there in time."
An unfortunate veteran of her mother's questionable judgment and loose driving skills, Tammy began to jump up and down in the back seat screaming "Mommy, Mommy, stop, Mommy stop. We're going to have an accident. We're going to have an accident".
Michael, sitting next to Barbara repeated in a soothing tone " We can catch a later flight, there is no need to rush like this." But Barbara was determined, "I'm going to get you there on time" she muttered again and again under her breath.
The car was damp from the rain. The smell of crackers and cookies, potato chips and candy rose from the wrappers that littered the car floor. I was relieved Barbara decided to leave Stella at home. Unfortunately the car held the dog's presence as her smell was even more pronounced because of the humidity. Closed windows began to fog.
I vacillated between terror and a strange sense of exhilaration and disbelief. Could Barbara actually pull this off? Historically, Barbara had an uncanny ability to do the impossible. I didn't always agree with her method, but in this case I felt helpless to change her course. My mind wandered a bit but another round of Tammy's panic screams brought me back to reality.
I rarely saw Tammy, but at this moment I realized how troubled her childhood was. Was she screaming from past experiences? I wondered what Tammy remembered of Barbara's frantic cross-country trip from Montana, fleeing a violent husband.
Michael and I didn't look at each other. We didn't speak. But, from the back seat, I saw a nervous stiffening of his shoulders. My interior voice cried "How did we get here? Why did we accept this ride. Tammy...Tammy, please stop screaming".
Neither Michael nor I drove. I didn't have the opportunity to learn how to drive and Michael refused to learn, I think, to gently spite his demanding father. Now we lived in a rural college town. For transportation we were at the mercy of the scant public bus schedule. We took the occasional taxi and depended on the kindness of our friends, like dear mad Barbara Bong.
Barbara was really moving now. We were off the highway and on the road leading to the airport. Incredulously I thought "If this keeps up Barbara will actually cut 15 minutes off her best time and we will actually make our plane."
Tammy, who was quiet for the last 20 minutes, began her mantra screams
"Mommy, Mommy, stop, Mommy stop. We're going to have an accident. We're going to have an accident."
We rounded the last turn, the airport was in front of us. The blinding rain had stopped revealing a red stoplight and two cars ahead of us waiting for the light to change. Did these cars hold people that were catching a plane? Were they meeting their daughter, son, Aunt Ann, Uncle Ernie, a father, a mother, a friend? Did it make any difference as Barbara slammed on her breaks?
The red light changed to green but not in time. A Cassandra at 8 years, Tammy's screams blended into the screech of the tires. Barbara's Oldsmobile went into a spin and skidded sideways down the road. We collided broadside hitting the back of the car in front of us on our passenger side. There was the ear splitting squeal of tires on wet pavement and the sharp bite of crushing metal and breaking glass. Then silence.
Just before impact I placed my arms around everyone in the back seat. I held Cricket and Caitlyn in their cat carriers and an hysterical Tammy close to me. Michael held on to everyone in the front seat in the same way. All of us moved as a solid unit when we hit the other car.
"Are you ok?" I heard Michael say over the deafening silence that followed the crash. "Yes, we seem to be alright back here. Are you ok up there?"
A small trickle of blood dripped down the side of Barbara's face, a minor cut probably caused by a piece of flying glass. Michael whispered, "I think we're ok".
We looked out from the mangled mess of our Oldsmobile. The impact telescoped the front fender and axle on the passenger's side into the engine. We looked through the cracked windshield that gratefully held in place.
The sun broke through the clouds revealing the chaos on the road in front of us. We hit the new 1967 Chevy waiting at the light. The impact bumped the new car into the old gray Dodge in front of it. The second car now sat on the other side of the medium strip looking into oncoming traffic. The June sun reflected off the glass and metal littered highway. It was a hot day and steam began to rise from the rain soaked remnants of our cars.
I remember Barbara's dazed voice repeating, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. How did this happen? You're going to miss your flight. I don't know what happened". I remember poor shell-shocked Tammy quietly crying. I remember people sitting in their cars, frozen in the after shock. The cats were uncharacteristically quiet. The police arrived. The sun got hotter. More steam rose from the highway as we watched a lone airplane rise into the cloudless sky. We missed our flight.
I rarely saw Tammy, but at this moment I realized how troubled her childhood was. Was she screaming from past experiences? I wondered what Tammy remembered of Barbara's frantic cross-country trip from Montana, fleeing a violent husband.
Michael and I didn't look at each other. We didn't speak. But, from the back seat, I saw a nervous stiffening of his shoulders. My interior voice cried "How did we get here? Why did we accept this ride. Tammy...Tammy, please stop screaming".
Neither Michael nor I drove. I didn't have the opportunity to learn how to drive and Michael refused to learn, I think, to gently spite his demanding father. Now we lived in a rural college town. For transportation we were at the mercy of the scant public bus schedule. We took the occasional taxi and depended on the kindness of our friends, like dear mad Barbara Bong.
Barbara was really moving now. We were off the highway and on the road leading to the airport. Incredulously I thought "If this keeps up Barbara will actually cut 15 minutes off her best time and we will actually make our plane."
Tammy, who was quiet for the last 20 minutes, began her mantra screams
"Mommy, Mommy, stop, Mommy stop. We're going to have an accident. We're going to have an accident."
We rounded the last turn, the airport was in front of us. The blinding rain had stopped revealing a red stoplight and two cars ahead of us waiting for the light to change. Did these cars hold people that were catching a plane? Were they meeting their daughter, son, Aunt Ann, Uncle Ernie, a father, a mother, a friend? Did it make any difference as Barbara slammed on her breaks?
The red light changed to green but not in time. A Cassandra at 8 years, Tammy's screams blended into the screech of the tires. Barbara's Oldsmobile went into a spin and skidded sideways down the road. We collided broadside hitting the back of the car in front of us on our passenger side. There was the ear splitting squeal of tires on wet pavement and the sharp bite of crushing metal and breaking glass. Then silence.
Just before impact I placed my arms around everyone in the back seat. I held Cricket and Caitlyn in their cat carriers and an hysterical Tammy close to me. Michael held on to everyone in the front seat in the same way. All of us moved as a solid unit when we hit the other car.
"Are you ok?" I heard Michael say over the deafening silence that followed the crash. "Yes, we seem to be alright back here. Are you ok up there?"
A small trickle of blood dripped down the side of Barbara's face, a minor cut probably caused by a piece of flying glass. Michael whispered, "I think we're ok".
We looked out from the mangled mess of our Oldsmobile. The impact telescoped the front fender and axle on the passenger's side into the engine. We looked through the cracked windshield that gratefully held in place.
The sun broke through the clouds revealing the chaos on the road in front of us. We hit the new 1967 Chevy waiting at the light. The impact bumped the new car into the old gray Dodge in front of it. The second car now sat on the other side of the medium strip looking into oncoming traffic. The June sun reflected off the glass and metal littered highway. It was a hot day and steam began to rise from the rain soaked remnants of our cars.
I remember Barbara's dazed voice repeating, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. How did this happen? You're going to miss your flight. I don't know what happened". I remember poor shell-shocked Tammy quietly crying. I remember people sitting in their cars, frozen in the after shock. The cats were uncharacteristically quiet. The police arrived. The sun got hotter. More steam rose from the highway as we watched a lone airplane rise into the cloudless sky. We missed our flight.
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