The Skeptic and the Turnpike

At our house it’s my wife, Susan, who’s the big believer in angels.

She has enough angel pictures, statues and assorted doodads to start her own mail-order business.

I’m a skeptic. During trying times though, I have to admit I’ve asked angels to lend a helping hand, the way Susan says they do.

Like the week after my father died. I had driven over to New Jersey to take care of some business related to Dad’s will. Afterward, I met my sister for dinner. We had lots to talk about. Close to midnight I pulled onto the New Jersey Turnpike and headed back home to Yonkers.

It was a blistering cold January night. Wind pounded the car, and it was as dark as ink outside. Susan’s probably praying I get home safe.

As I finished that thought, the lights on the dashboard went out and the pedals locked up. My car had lost power. I drifted to a halt on the snow-packed shoulder of the Turnpike.

Now I understand why people carry cell phones, I thought and looked at my watch. I wish I had Susan’s angels with me now.

I got out of the car and zipped up my coat. I waved my arms frantically but it was no use. No one stopped. I wouldn’t want to stop on the Turnpike after midnight either. Not these days.

But I knew Susan would call my sister and get worried when she learned what time I left. No doubt she’d turn to her angels. If you really do listen, God, send half the angels to comfort Susan and the other half to get me home.

I shivered and willed a state trooper to come by and help me, but none did. My teeth chattered. The later it got, the less likely it seemed someone would ever stop for me. Especially because the cars were now few and far between. Guess I have to abandon the car and hoof it over to a roadside motel.

I was about to walk the mile or so to the next exit when I heard the crunching sound of tires on snow. The car wasn’t coming up behind me, but backing up toward me. Just two red taillights on the shoulder. A car in reverse on the Turnpike?

The car stopped right in front of me. The door opened and out came a young man. Or, at least, the man made a youthful impression on me
in the darkness.

“Trouble?” the stranger said. I told him my electrical system was shot.

“I found you a tow truck,” he said. “Help is on the way.”