by Louy Castonguay

Created on: June 20, 2009

The Salesman

My car was a large part of my adjustment to widowhood and being cripple. Driving became my occupation and my therapy. When I wasn't volunteer driving, taking seniors to doctors and such, I was running the roads. It was a car accident, in case you wondered, that took my husband and left me with a feeble left leg by age forty. He was driving. A truck ran over us.

I rolled out of bed reluctantly, one day in April, to take a workfare mother down to a Women's, Infants and Children's appointment. It had snowed during the night. Limping through snow is taxing. I also dreaded being out in the cold, cleaning off the car and the slushy driving, the miserable-ness of life as a less-than-able person. Yes, I have days I feel sorry for myself, and days I am purely in pain.

It turned out to be a gorgeously sunny day, with blinding snowmelt. By the time I got outside, the snow had slid off the car, and the driveway had been cleared.

I drove Monica to her appointment. She asked if I could swing by and pick up her mail at her mother's while waiting. In this small county everyone knows everyone. I've knew Monica as a toddler. She meant her mother, Meredith, could use a visit. I often transported Monica and visited with Meredith during the wait.

It was one of those transition places, where Meredith lived, a large old farm house converted to efficiency apartments, no parking to speak of, with the mailboxes across the road from the building. I usually parked in the drive or front apron of the car sales/garage/wrecker company near the mailboxes. If Jerome, the garage owner, was around I'd wave to him as I limped to the mailbox. He knew me from school and knew who I was visiting. The visit, like usual, was too short. Monica'd told me not to hurry, but I like to be punctual. As I limped back across the street, I was concerned. I wasn't sure how much longer Meredith was going to be able to live in her apartment. I was upset that I hadn't been more tactful talking about it today. She seemed especially unable to focus.

When I reached the parking lot, no one was in sight, nor was my car. Perplexed, I walked around the sales area and couldn't find it. I went inside. Finally, Freddie showed up. Freddie, elfin, quick, always moving, always talking, was the backbone of the business. He could take a wrecker call on the phone, make notes about it and hand out a set of car keys and bill to someone who had just had repairs

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