She reminded me of the Queen of England with her perfect posture, silver hair neatly pinned, and hands properly placed on the wheel at 10 and 2. Elderly perfection.
I was twirling in my yard the first time I noticed her drive by. Something odd caught my eye, eerie even. She was alone in the front seat, and sitting in the back seat behind her was a strange looking man. I didn’t get a close enough look. I continued twirling and flopped on the grass to watch my 9 year old world spin.
I knew little of this woman. I don’t believe I ever even knew her name, but I knew she lived up the street by my Grandma. I remember her home well. It was a stately brick house set on a meandering cul-de-sac. The front walkway was lined with pale pink rose bushes and a wrought iron gate spanning the entrance to the front door. The house was always quiet, gate closed, blinds drawn; tidy but mysterious. Not even trick-or-treating would open that gate.
I had just pulled a Popsicle out of the garage freezer when I noticed her car coming down the street again. I dashed close to the road before she was out of sight. She didn’t turn her gaze to notice I was there. There he sat dressed in a trench coat and a grandpa style hat, stiff as a board . He stared straight ahead, pale and sullen. What in the world?? I let out a shudder and screamed which brought my older sister running. There was no calming my imagination to explain, I just yelled, “I think there was a dead guy in her car.”
I walked to my Grandma’s house one afternoon with her yard full of scrub oak and violets. As she sliced freshly picked green apples into perfect little wedges at her kitchen table I asked about her neighbor across the street. “Nice enough woman, kept to herself” she said. “She was widowed a few years ago and so she lives alone.” Grandma thought she had a son that lived out of town. Wondering why I was curious I told her, “I was just wondering. It always seems to be so quiet over there”. As I left to walk home I wanted so badly to peek in her garage window but I wasn’t very brave by myself.
It was summer and I begged my sister to come outside to play in hopes that “they” would drive by, and of course they didn’t. I don’t remember how many times we found ourselves watching and waiting. But one day they drove by! With wings for legs we flew when we saw her coming. Finally someone would believe me. The car passed slowly, the lady driver still oblivious to onlookers, and there he sat just as I had described him, trench coat, hat….stiff. Through laughter my sister blurted that he wasn’t dead he was a dummy! No wonder he was so stiff! We laughed and laughed, but I still had that haunting feeling. Why would this woman be driving around with a trench-coated dummy in the backseat of her car?
Time passed as they would still drive by, almost daily. It blended into every day life. I remember smiling as one day she drove by with the back seat empty; wondering if he was spending a day at the dry cleaners, or if he had simply slumped over as she rounded a turn. I also wondered if anyone else had noticed her passenger at the bank drive thru, or maybe the car wash. I hoped they were kind.
Although I was morbidly curious at first, she became my friend, and she didn’t even know it. Curiosity had turned to compassion and I remember feeling admiration that she was getting through life in a way that made her feel confident, even safe. And then one day she and her car stopped driving by…
It has been a long time since that summer. My address has changed many times. The older I get, the more I understand. Among the bright and shining moments, my life has had caution and loneliness and times that I didn’t think I could get through alone. I wish I had been brave enough to get through that gate and knock on her door to know her story. But mostly, I wish she knew that she had another steady friend in me. My drive by friend taught me about gumption, about poise and grace, about carrying on, and she gave me a little courage to do the same. Drive on my friend, drive on.
