The Little Sonata that Could

I visited my Kevin last weekend. He goes to school in Grove City, Pennsylvania, which is a five hour drive from home on a perfectly clear, trafficless day. Of course, on Friday, the day I drove up, it was pouring rain the entire way. So I spent six hours en route, letting my mind wander and carefully rationing pieces of candy. Kevin’s brother is a sophomore at the same school, so their mom sent with me little goodie bags for each of ‘em. I snagged a peppermint patty from Kevin’s bag and a Reeses’ from his brother’s. (Yeah, I know—I was impressed with my self control too.)

I’m not someone who particularly minds driving long distances or driving in the rain or in the snow or at night or whatever, especially when I have a handsome stud waiting for me at the end of my journey, but there were definitely some white knuckle moments. You know, when you’re driving through the rain and you end up behind a Mac truck that creates a persistent flume-like wall of water splashing on your windshield? Yeah—there was lots of that. There were moments when the rain was falling so heavily that people were pulling over, hazards flashing, for the stillness and comparative safety of the roadside. Not me though. I was focused. I hadn’t seen Kevin in nearly three weeks! I felt like I was—or my car, rather—was the hero of some child’s storybook as my little car drove steadily along, slowly passing 18-wheelers and SUVs and other small cars who’d given up the ghost. (She’d have to be a brightly colored car though to have such a starring role. Her dingy silver paint would blend right into an illustration of the Pennsylvania Turnpike on a rainy day.) With the radio off, the splashing under tires and percussion of the downpour on the roof seemed amplified. We chugged along though, with no coffee break for me and no gas break for her.

Around the time that my GPS, informed me that I was ten minutes from my destination, I heard a loud bang at the windshield, like the sound of a rock making contact. I was confused for a moment. Added to the rhythmic swoosh and thump of my windshield-wipers was a terrible SKREEETCH… SKREEETCH… SKREEETCH.

The windshield-wiper blade on the driver’s side had broken and flown off as I drove down that large, unfamiliar highway. I could see nothing but blobs of light through the thick, flowing coat of rain that the driver’s side of my windshield wore. I had to keep the wipers going though, and continued driving, leaning across the center console to look through the other half of the windshield. I turned on my radio for the first time in hours in an attempt to drown out the terrible, sharp sound of metal rubbing glass. (Paired with the stream of profanity and noises of frustration, it was quite successful.)

I drove ten under the speed limit for that last bit of the trip, but I made it! And after rubbing and rolling the crick out of my neck and getting a new wiper blade at a near-by auto shop, I had a wonderful weekend with Kevin. So worth the drive.