Don't Need Reason, Don't Need Rhyme

As newlyweds, my wife and I lived in my in-laws guest house in Sedona, Arizona. My beautiful bride was finishing up her teaching degree while I worked about 45 minutes away at my firs "real" benefit-provided professional job.

I owned an ancient Honda Civic station wagon that had been a trusty friend throughout my college days. I was reminded about the vehicle recently when my kids began screaming for music to be turned on the car stereo the moment we buckled our safety belts.

"I once had a car that had no radio in it." I lectured. They sat puzzled. Dumbfounded and I believe a little confused as to what the hell that had to do with playing the Sponge Bob Square Pants movie soundtrack they desperately craved. My statement stopped their fingernails-on-the-chalkboard shrieks just long enough for me to clarify myself. It appeared they thought that Daddy was completely going insane. "So I would go everywhere in silence, without anything to listen too." I emphasized.

I think I heard crickets.

"That means that you can live without a song, or noise in the car once and awhile." I continued to ramble since I was given the crazy-guy space they felt I needed at the time.

Then the silence ceased. Anguished heart-broken cries of injustice wailed.

In the winter months, I would leave for work in the dark and return in the dark. It could of been depressing, but I was living the dream man. Later that year, as the aspen buds began to bloom, I noticed one afternoon an oncoming brown Isuzu Trooper approaching ahead. The headlights flashed a couple of times. I thought there was an accident ahead. I lifted my foot off of the accelerator, and stared at the driver of the approaching Trooper. I don't know what I was expecting, but as we passed each other, a woman with long, straight brown hair lifted her arm and waved vigorously at me with a beaming smile on her face.

I was completely shocked. Talk about a random act of kindness. It made my day, although I had forgotten all about it by the time I pulled into our driveway.

Not long afterwards I saw the same Isuzu Trooper flashing it's lights at me as I was going to work in the morning. The straight, long, brown-haired waiving and smiling woman passed me again. This time I had a better idea of what was happening, so I jerkily lifted one hand off of the steering wheel in a classic Chief Cigar wooden statue manner.

This was the start of our game. From there on out it was something to do on the road between here and there. As long as I was on schedule, we usually saw each other and spread a little happiness along Highway 89A.

It was something special, but I never thought about sharing it with anyone. Actually, I never really thought about it until one afternoon recently, I saw the woman coming into town. The same Isuzu Trooper. The same long brown hair. I just about flipped out of the driver seat waving. Then I realized, she did not know who I was because I was no longer in my Honda station wagon.

Then I had to explain to my wife, who sat in the passenger seat next to me, the commuter affair I had years ago.