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Well, it finally happened. A
girlfriend once said she broke down and cried when it first happened to her. Me?
I coached myself when I walked out of Macy’s, a bag in each hand. “Focus. You’ve
always found your car.”
This time, however, I forgot to make a mental note
of the marker when I parked at the aisle’s end. No problem. After sitting all
day in a remarkable writing conference, I was up for strolling the concrete maze
filled with waiting automobiles.
The
more I scanned the aisles with no sight of my car, the twinge of fear crept
into my mind, Mom fading away with Alzheimer’s. Unfamiliar with the layout of
parking levels, I became disoriented and at last kissed my pride good-bye.
“Excuse
me, young man,” I said to a security officer. “I’ve lost my car.”
“Follow
me.”
He
exchanged some directions with another young man who sat at the wheel of a
huge, shiny SUV.
“Do
I just climb in?” I asked.
He
cleaned the lenses to his eyeglasses and slid them on. “Sure.”
His
casual attitude calmed my anxiety. “I can’t believe I’ve lost my car.”
“Oh,
don’t worry about it, ma’am. This happens all the time. It took me a week to
learn the ins and outs.”
“So your
job depends upon forgetful old ladies like me,” I said.
“And
young ladies,” he replied with finesse.
We
searched the third level with no success. “Which ramp did you enter?” he asked.
“The
ramp to second level.”
“No
wonder we can’t find your car. We’re on the third level.”
We
struck up a conversation about his graduation from college and his future job
with Ford in Communications and Marketing. His sister works for the company
also.
“Do
I detect an accent?” I asked.
He
smiled with a wrist relaxed over the steering wheel. “Polish. I came from Poland
when I was twelve,” he said. “I’m going back next month to visit my family.
It’s beautiful where I come from.”
I
nodded, thought of Appalachia, my birthplace. “Several of my good friends are
Polish and have returned home to visit.”
“Next
month I’m taking my girlfriend to meet my family. She’s Mexican. Then, we’re
going to Mexico so I can meet her family. It’s important we know where we come
from and our traditions.”
We
found my blue Prius in no time. I would’ve cried for joy if it hadn’t been for
a call coming in on my cellphone. I thanked the young man from Poland, stepped
down from his vehicle and took my call.
“Where
are you, Iris? Do you have time to talk about the conference?”
“Diana!
I’m at Somerset and just found my lost car. I’m so relieved!”
“I’ve
done that before,” she consoled.
We celebrated
Diana’s writing awards announced in Troy while she attended another writing conference
in Chicago. We swapped highlights, names of old friends and new people we met,
where they came from.
Dear
Reader, I ask you, isn’t home the heart of all our stories?
P.S. Don't forget to mail your poetry submission for Yule Love It's poetry contest. See details on the Poetry Contest link.
