Once Upon A December

Simply Waiting #NARomance

Technically, my job doesn't start until tomorrow. But technicalities don't help my engine get running any faster. 

It sure helps me feel better, though.

Finally, just like Dad said it would, my 1977 Chevy decided to up and quit on me with forty miles left to go, in the middle of a soft summer rain. That's the bad news. The good news is that the Good Lord let it happen right in the middle of the small town of Ericsdale, South Carolina. Since this morning, I've been well taken care of.

A man and his wife helped me push the metal lump to a place where it would be out of the way, which was in the flower shop's parking area on Main Street. The woman who worked there let me pick out a petunia for free. The book store owner across the street offered to let me use their phone. I've already had three different people stop and look at my engine, even in the rain, the first of which called the local mechanic.

Good news: It's fixable.

Bad news: It's fixable only in two and a half hours when he gets back from a work call. Apparently, him and another man service three different towns. That may seem like a lot, but those towns have a combined population of a hundred forty thousand and change, including children (who don't have cars) and people who can just do it themselves.

To be fair, Dad offered to teach me how to do it myself. I know how to change a tire and replace a battery, and that is all. I never really cared to learn. No reason, just didn't. I was more interested in ballet.

On my right, a man was walking his little brown dachshund. It looked very young and excitable, so I wasn't surprised when it started skipping -- well, it looked like it, at least -- down the sidewalk. It raised up its ears and barked in my general direction.

I smiled, assuming it was barking at me. Then I heard the quiet rumbling of an engine behind me, growing increasingly louder.

A black sedan with extremely tinted windows cut off at the same time I hopped off the tailgate. A part of me was pleased with the thought that yet another one of the townspeople were so kind to help me. Lord, thank You for letting me stop here. I adjusted my umbrella and stood out to greet him.

A young man in shades came out of the driver's side. He was in a dark green flannel and blue jeans, slightly rolled up at the ankles. He had on nice, brown dress shoes. His hair was meticulously messy. He wore a cross around his neck. And he looked exactly the same from the last time I saw him.

He leaned against the open door, half in and half out of the car, holding his jacket over his head. "You need any help, ma'am?"

I was too stunned to speak at first. Really? After three years? He just shows up back in my life? It can't just happen like this; it can't happen this fast. But once I remembered that, hey, this is just Ryan, I can talk to Ryan -- then I could begin to form words.

Somewhat.

"No, I'm all good. It's all right. I've already been, um, helped."

He smiled at me in that way he used to when I stumbled around myself. The same one you give a puppy when it's playing and falls over. Or when your toddler sister says something ridiculous, like "I can't eat peas, they'll make my teeth green!" And she was being completely serious about it, too.

To my knowledge, he never figured out why it only happened around him. Like right then, with me still standing like a stop sign. Stuck in between him, my tailgate, and the flower shop. My only options were: one, strike up a conversation, or two, run across the street into the book store.

I wanted to run. But what was that going to solve? 

I cleared my throat. How many minutes had passed since he pulled up? I guessed at least five. I looked at my watch. Not even one.