An Essay

A Road Trip Worth Remembering

I remember, with vivid clarity, my first car. In the early eighties, I had purchased my first vehicle for four hundred- fifty dollars. That was an astonishing amount for my meager salary. I knew nothing about this car. All I knew about it was it was a 1970 green Dodge Impala with over one hundred and twenty thousand miles on it.
Little did I realize the first major road trip would be its last.
I was living in New York at the time. It was a blistery fall morning when I received the news that my triplet brother and triplet sister were in a car accident in Delaware. The both of them were living in Virginia Beach at the time, and had been taking a weekend drive with their respective dates.
Both were in the hospital. My first instinct was to take a flight to Delaware and visit them. My mother recommended we both drive there so we could bring them back. I was dubious since I knew practically nothing about my car. However, I knew we could not take her car since it was in bad shape. I decided the risk was worth it. My brother and sister had to come home and heal their physical and emotional wounds.
The trip to Delaware went off without a hitch. The car performed beautifully. I was thrilled until we entered the hospital’s emergency room parking lot. Then dread filled me to my core.
When my mother and I were taken to their respective rooms, I had to stifle my reaction. My triplet brother was lying in bed and from what I could discern, he had not been badly injured, albeit he did have some bruises on his face and throat. He would be okay. My triplet sister was not so lucky. Her face was bruised to the point that I barely recognized her. I let loose tears that had swelled up, and they flew freely down my grief ridden face. She could barely speak and was in a great deal of agony.
My mother and I stayed the night and the next morning we were anxious to get them back home.
However, my triplet brother was not allowed to leave. He was in the military and the Navy refused to let him go home. We were furious, but there was nothing we could do. The only consolation was that he wasn’t injured that bad.
My sister was permitted to leave with us. When we helped her to my car, I felt as though we were helping an elderly person. She walked slowly and it appeared as though each footstep was a struggle. We managed to get her in the back seat where she would have plenty of room to lie down.
The drive back to New York was racked with her moaning with pain. Every time my car hit a bump, I could her groan. No, that’s not quite true, not only did I hear her pain, I felt it. My empathy was in full swing and there was no turning back. My beloved triplet brother and sister were in a car accident in a different state and I was back home, unable to be with them. There was a sense of overwhelming guilt that I was not with them. Realistically, if I had been with them, what could I have done to prevent it?
All of those thoughts, and more, raced through my head until I noticed the oil light went on. I could not tell you how long the light was on because I was lost in thought and struggling with my bottled up emotions. If you added the constant state of pain my sister was in, you would get a more lucid picture.
I had used up my money for gas and my mom did not have any. I knew we had enough fuel to get home, but did not know if we had enough oil. The last thing we needed was to have the engine seize with an injured person on the Long Island Expressway. I did the only thing I knew how. I prayed silently to God to get us home. If there had ever been a slightest bit of doubt toward him, it was eradicated right there. I did not care about the condition of my car after we got home because my sister was worth it. I could always save and buy another one. I only had one triplet sister. I prayed vigorously that my car make it to my driveway and the three of us be safe.
I had never prayed so feverishly in my life. If you think that an exaggeration, think again. I pulled up in the driveway and turned off my car. We helped my ailing sister into the house.
I tried to start my car but it was futile. It had seized. However, I would not trade that experience for nothing.
My sister stayed in one of the bedrooms for a solid week, getting up only to use the facilities. In time, she healed and soon she was ready to go back to Virginia Beach. She told me how grateful she was to my mom and me, and we hugged for what appeared to be an eternity.
As for my first car, it will always be remembered as the trip we will never forget.