”Oh nonsense,” he said, putting the pieces back together.
He went in for attempt two and again, pieces went flying. I think he was now actually considering the possibility I might be cursed.
I told him I’d understand if he kicked me off his bus.
“Those pieces are cosmetic anyway,” he said. “Pushing on!”
Shockingly, we weren’t in a fiery crash on the way to the parking lot. And finally, I reached my car.
I’m not even going to lie about it. I dropped my luggage and wrapped my arms around my car as best I could. In that moment I understood why sailors kiss the ground after a long spell at sea.
So as I stood there, my cheek warmed by the sun-soaked steel, it hit me: What if my car doesn’t start?
Misty Knisely is managing editor of the Pharos-Tribune. She can be reached at 574-732-5155 or at email@example.com