I have recently realized that our lives are lived in a series of brackets. These are a succession of ‘befores’ and ‘afters’: before the first job after the last job, being single then being married, before the baby then after the last one leaves home, before that move then after that move. But one bracket that I am in the middle of just occurred to me the other day --- before the car and after the car
I clearly recall the ‘before’ concerning the car. There was the excitement of my approaching sixteenth birthday and then, the test passed, the cherished entry into the world of driving. I loved being in the car and would happily run any family errands just to be behind the wheel. I remember one summer night in particular. It was a pleasantly warm evening, and I had all the windows rolled down as this was in the era before air conditioning. I had told my parents I was going to the library, but in reality I was taking a drive. I had gone to Rock Creek Park, and was on the two lane road that ran the length of that Washington, D.C. city park, following the meandering path of Rock Creek. In some places one forded the creek which was especially gratifying, the water splashing up over the tires as one carefully negotiated the submerged road. I had the radio tuned to WGMS, the local classical music station, when the station began to play Handel’s Messiah. I was mesmerized by my first hearing of what has become one of my favorite pieces of music. The dusk deepened, the sweet smell of creek and summer wafted through the open windows, and the immortal words of the King James Bible filled the car. “Unto us a son is born,” “So in Christ shall all be made alive,” “The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised.” I was transported by the music and the words, driving into the growing dark, the headlights piercing the road ahead and the music piercing my heart.
But now, I am now approaching the age when driving a car may no longer be a safe thing for me to do. I can barely stand to think about the loss of freedom that entails, as I wait for the other half of the car bracket to drop. I remember a dear older friend, who no longer drove, saying to me one day as we went to the grocery store these heartrending words, “Do you know, I will never be alone in a car again?.” That day is approaching for me, and I hope that I will face it with grace and acquiescence. Perhaps if I remember the opening solo of the Messiah it will help. “Comfort ye my people, saith your God.”
