Many, many years ago, when I was an undergraduate and it was final exams week, I had stayed up most of the night memorizing cases and issues for a Constitutional Law exam. Drinking instant coffee, trying to burn the midnight oil. It was something I rarely did, but I was nervous about this particular exam and since I had gotten in the habit of receiving an A as my final grade and I really didn’t want to mess that up for lack of a case name.
I awoke with a start, a bit later than usual. I hurried downstairs, no time for breakfast, all nerves. My parents let me drive the very large yellow and “wood” trimmed family station wagon to commute to school, nicknamed The Yellow Submarine by my father.
We lived in Queens, New York, and yes, there were buses and subways I could have taken to get to school. That route would take more than an hour to go less than thirty miles, so use of the car was greatly appreciated. I hopped in the car, put it in reverse, and, nothing. No movement. Worse than that, the car lopped on its right side with a determined thunk.
I rushed back into the house, blubbering. I stayed up all night, now I’m going to miss the exam and he said no chance to re-take the exam and and and…without a word, just a glance between them, Dad, dressed in a suit and tie, and my brother got up from their breakfast and went to the driveway and changed the tire.
I had never witnessed either of them change a tire before. It didn’t occur to me that a solution was to be had for my predicament. I only saw disaster. I didn’t imagine a spare, I only drove the thing and got gas when the arrow approached E. That was the extent of my driving knowledge.
Why did this particular memory, all of twenty minutes of my life when I was ooh so young and thought I knew a little something, pop up now? I'm at a crossroads in my life right now, feeling a bit like a flat tire, hoping to get an A on whatever comes next.
I wonder where I keep the spare.