The Match
Peggy's children
were grown and she didn't have a pet, but she loved Sally. She provided for her
well, giving her good shelter, spending a lot of money taking care of her other
needs and keeping her clean and neat. She also showered her with attention; they
went everywhere together. One Valentine's Day, Peggy put a huge red bow on
Sally, but Sally didn't care. In fact, she didn't even know the bow was there. Despite
her limitations, Sally was Peggy's pride and joy.
Talk about true
love--one day Peggy told me, "My dad had her a long time and he took
excellent care of her. When I inherited her from him, I made a promise to do
the same, no matter what. We fit together; we're a match." She sighed. "I
know she's getting older now and can't move as fast as she once could, but I
still love her."
I scratched my
head. Peggy was less than realistic. Sally had more problems than moving fast.
She was slow starting in the morning, then she'd sputter around before getting
into gear. Even when she got going, nothing went smoothly. Sometimes, at the
worst possible times, she'd come to a complete standstill.
Nonetheless, at
Peggy's insistence, the three of us often went places together. I really didn't
like to be involved with her. But, despite my reservations, I couldn't tell my
friend that; she'd be too offended. I couldn't even tell Peggy, who had
physical problems, that Sally took more care than she could feasibly provide.
At twenty years old, it was time for Sally to go somewhere else. But I didn't
express my opinion. Saying those things was useless. I knew Peggy wouldn't have
listened to me.
However, one day,
after Peggy told me, "My friend's son is interested in Sally," I spotted
my chance to speak up and took the leap.
"You can't do
anymore with her, Peggy," I insisted. "Why don't you give Hal a
chance? Maybe he can fix her up." I thought this might be Peggy's opportunity
to break the bond.
She dismissed the
idea then. But, to my surprise, after a lot of deliberation and indecision, Peggy
did let Hal take Sally. At first, he took good care of her. But that was
short-lived. Before two months were up, he had a wreck. Knowing how Peggy would
react if she saw Sally all bent in on one side, barely able to move, Hal's mother
called her.
"I'm sorry,
Peggy," she began. "I hate to give you bad news, but there's been an
accident and Sally was hurt. Hal did what he could to steer her out of harm's
way," she said, "but a truck ran a red light and then plowed right
into them and, well,"--she stammered--"Sally got the brunt of the
damage. I had to let you know. I didn't want you to come over here and see what
happened and be shocked."
With eyes
downcast, Peggy shook her head as she told me, "I boo-hoo'd. My baby was
hurt bad. I haven't been over to their house yet. I just can't bear to see her
like that."
Lines crossed my
brow. "She's just..." I began.
When Peggy blinked
and her shoulders stiffened, I decided my next words would hit a nerve, so I
chewed on my lip, cutting off my statement. Then I asked a question. "Doesn't
Hal have insurance?"
Wringing her
hands, Peggy nodded. "Yes, he does. But if he makes a claim..."
She couldn't
finish the sentence. So, I did. "They'll cancel his insurance."
"Worse than that."
Peggy pressed her hands tightly against her cheeks. "They'll consider her
a total loss." Sobbing, she added, "And my poor baby, my beautiful
1994 Buick Park Avenue, will end up in some old car junk yard." She
shivered. "Oh, my! They may even put her in one of those horrible car
crushers and crush her into a tiny cube. That's barbaric! If I could, I'd
rather have her cremated."
I went over and
put my arm around her, wondering what words would provide appropriate sympathy
for a car. I was also beginning to wonder if I'd personified this car like
Peggy had. Was this getting to me, too? I was stumped, but it turned out that I
didn't have to say anything.
Taking a deep
breath, Peggy looked up at me and cocked her head. "I, I sure hope,"
she sniffled, "I hope there's a car heaven."
All I had to do
was nod and be gratified at the consolation in my friend's eyes.
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