A Legacy Project

That Sunday Tizi had gone to a bridal shower. Before the snow started I dropped her off at her sister’s and drove out to Drayton Plains to visit my friend Chris and his wife Nancy. I brought along my guitar. Through the afternoon we played and sang Beatle songs. We played and sang Crosby Stills and Nash songs. Around 2:00 p.m. he opened a bottle of his father’s home-made champagne. We played and sang, and after an hour or so, he opened another bottle. I lost track of time. The plan was I would drive back for Tizi at her sister’s around 4:00. I left Chris and Nancy at 4:30. It had begun to snow.

I like driving in the snow. One winter day when I was in grad school in North Carolina, a dusting of snow brought Durham to a full stop. Along with maybe ten other people in town, I drove the slippery streets with confidence and pleasure, road conditions that were nothing compared to what I was used to back in Michigan.

That Sunday afternoon I was driving an old Pontiac Brougham four-door we’d bought from my parents. It was faded green with a patchy black vinyl top, slowly going to rust. On the snow, it felt like massive, like an ocean liner skimming the seas. I was carefully drunk, enjoying the ride, when I turned onto Kings Gate Way. On the gentle slope down to Lake Crescent Dr. I was taking it easy, but still feeling the thrill and glee of being in the snow, when without warning I felt the car rotate counterclockwise slightly. I was now mildly diagonal on the road, going 20 mph. I thought to myself, This is bad. Then, again without warning, with a small correction on the steering wheel, we rotated clockwise, back to normal road orientation. I slowed and made the turn.

“Did you?” Tizi said when she got in the car

“Just a little,” I said. “His dad’s champagne.”

“I don’t believe you.” 

I shifted into D for drive and began a slow roll down the driveway.

“Can you?”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “No problem. I love driving in the snow.” 

I took it easy. I gave thanks to a watchful God looking down on an old rusty Pontiac, grateful that I had not slid off the road and torn up someone’s lawn, shaming myself, my wife, her sister and husband. 

“I love it,” I said. “But you’ve got to be careful.  That’s why I was late.”