DANGER: Keep Off the Roads

DANGER:

KEEP OFF THE ROADS

 

Stay off the roads unless it is absolutely necessary brings to mind what hazards––icy roads? Poor visibility? Huge mounds of snow?  The word danger triggers what? Be extra careful? Mis-hap to anyone but me? Risk of sliding into the ditch? A fender bender or maybe even a write-off? What about death? An extreme result you might think. It’s this latter impression and much, much more that directs and at times overwhelms Joseph, a character in my novel, Baggage burdens.

Joseph’s parents died in a vehicle accident because of poor weather when Joseph was very young. Compared to the impact on Joseph, his parents’ suffering was short lived, limited. Joseph had no parents for more than fourteen years. He was blessed in that he had loving grandparents who cared for him. Joseph’s loss includes having no chance for a brother or sister to connect with. While Joseph became close with his grandparents that also meant that he adopted their old-school values, something that put him out of step with people his age. It also caused friction and loneliness for Joseph because he didn’t fit in with his rebellious grandparents’ children. Of all the negative effects feeling lonely and being seen as an oddball left him insecure. It left him desiring brothers and sisters for his children, a source of stress for his wife, but it also made him committed to preventing anything from happening that would leave his children without parents, the worst danger that could be fall his children.

Uneasy silence hangs on Joseph’s shoulders as he looks at the tall bull rushes standing guard over the water’s edge at the bottom of the short hill. Finally, pointing to a few white fluffy hats on Canadian thistles, Joseph says, “Lucky you. If we were on my land, I’d have pulled you out by now.”

 ‘Nervous,’ Jill surmises. ‘What’s he building up to?’

Silence returns as Joseph stares down at his runners. Then he looks directly at Jill. In a very serious tone he asks, “Do you think I’m weird?”

“Different, not weird.”  Her answer takes only a second.

He quits fidgeting. “I am weird. At least that’s what my uncles say.”

Joseph’s confession is a little louder than a whisper, almost as if he doesn’t want to let her in on embarrassing part of his life. Once again he looks down at his feet.   

Seeing Joseph’s confusion Jill adds. “Where shall our new baby sleep? If it’s in our room, do you want to wake up every time the baby cries? Do you want Daniel to be in that situation?” Jill studies Joseph’s reaction, knowing the question he’s struggling to blurt out.

“You’re right,” begins Joseph slowly. “It means an addition to the house and that itself isn’t a problem.” 

Jill watches him. “The real problem is . . ..”  He stops and looks carefully at Jill. Her expression tells him she’s ready. In the past Jill always looked down or away when he tried to discuss family size. Today she looks directly at him.

“How many rooms do we add?

Jill had debated her answer several times. Shortly after they were married Joseph indicated he’d love to have a large family. Jill hadn’t wanted to commit to any family size. After Daniel’s birth, she heard that some women in church envied her first problem-free birth. They predicted it was a good sign, a sign of a large family to come. 

The possibility scared Jill. She felt inadequate. Many of those women had five or six children. ‘Can I handle such a large family? Do I want to? Daniel is such a joy, but five more children?’

“What are you doing?” Jill asks, as she sees Joseph heading for the exit ramp.

Without taking his eyes off the single set of tracks on the snow-covered road Joseph answers. “If I’m not mistaken, there’s a motel up ahead. If they have a vacancy sign, I think we should take a room.”

“You sure?” She turns the radio down to hear Joseph’s reply clearly.

A soft defeated yeah, escapes Joseph’s lips. As they plow ahead at a decreasing speed, Jill notices Joseph’s right hand race from the wheel to his eye. A quick wipe. His hand regrips the wheel.

Jill focuses on Joseph’s face instead of the snow-road ahead. “Joseph, what’s wrong?”

Joseph sucks in a long deep breath before he says, still in a very low voice, “that radio warning––don’t drive unless you have to.” He falls silent again. His hand sweeps away another tear creeping out of the corner of his eye. “That is the warning my grandmother told me was issued when my parents tried to drive home from Grand Prairie. They didn’t heed the warning. They died.” He takes another deep breath and adds, “I don’t want that for our children.”

 haiku capsule:

auto accident

shapes husband’s future values

far reaching impacts

Next blog:

Ask for Forgiveness?