When Mamaw was pregnant with Mama, there was an ugly snowstorm all down the Mason-Dixon. Mamaw drove herself from work, out of the city, and onto country roads slick with black ice, all the while dreading the hairpin turn that would bring her home one way or another. As her hands gripped the steering wheel and she wished she had sprung for those new three-point seat belts, she got a glimpse of two bundled figures pushing trucks around the bend. Papaw and his brother had helped all the passing motorists when the roads got bad, until Papaw drove Mamaw the rest of the way home.
Mamaw told me this story last week. She’s worried about me living alone this winter, and Papaw’s been gone ten years now. I wonder if Papaw went out “just in case”, or if he was waiting for Mamaw.
They’re calling for five inches on Sunday. I know that isn’t much, but you know I can’t drive for shit. I asked myself if you were the kind of man who would help the passing motorists. Of course you would, if you were already out and saw them struggling.
I’m not carrying your child, but I wonder if you would insist on picking me up from work. The thought makes me feel alone all over again this winter.