NOTHING IS EVER SIMPLE

This life, mine anyway, it unwinds like line off the spool on a fishing reel, not in a straight, smooth, linear fashion bur rather with coiled loops with kinks down through the rod’s line guides, out into space and down to the water. Sometimes, fishing, I let the bait sink for a while before I start the retrieve. It’s not until I make a turn or two on the crank that the line straightens, goes taught and I can feel resistance from the baited end. Who knows, that force may come from a hooked fish or it may be no more than fluid friction against the worm. That is a fair analogy for the way my life goes; cast, let the bait sink, retrieve, only then figure out what is going on at the hook end of my line. It’s not until after you eliminate coils and kinks that you know how to proceed. At any given moment, I have dozens of lines in the water but I can only tend to one at a time. Nothing is easy, nothing is ever simple, not if you look close enough and ask all of the relevant questions. 

Recently, several days ago, I took a break while driving Interstate I-35. I remember the location exactly: it was at mile #1 Visitors Center just north of the Texas/Oklahoma border. With my small popup camper in tow, I turned into the (cars only) entrance, knowing there would be no suitable space for my rig’s long foot print but I didn’t want to walk all the way from where big trucks were parked and I’ve never followed directions all that well, so I parked parallel to the curb, covering 5 angled parking spaces. I would use the restroom and study an Oklahoma map. There was only one car parked between me and the building as I started up the sidewalk and I wasn’t paying attention. There was a voice but it didn’t register. Then I heard it again. Someone in that parked car was trying to get my attention. I glanced that way and the voice came a little louder on its 3rd try. “Sir! Excuse me sir!” This is the part where I concede there is something tugging on the end of my line. Stepping closer, the woman leaned toward her open window and began her story. “I’m sorry to bother you but I have to get to Ardmore and I need help: can you help me?” I felt like the victim in a prank where they video people unawares. My mind kicked in with an observation that it’s only 20 or so miles up the road, just keep going north but the words never took shape in my mouth. The woman was heavy but not fat, with gray streaks in her short hair. She must have been 60 with glasses too big and a generic, fabric coat. After a pause she tried again: “If you could only help me make it to Ardmore I would so appreciate it.” 

The car was a dark coppery/orange color hatchback sedan, fairly late model but the front end had recent collision damage and something was leaking up front. I apologized. “I’m sorry,” I said, “what I think you mean is, you need some money.” The little dog on the passenger seat was unhappy with me and she calmed it with her far hand as she leaned my way. “I only need 7$ and I can make it to Ardmore.” The rest of the car was a shamble. There was a cardboard box full of papers and notebooks, a heap of wadded up clothes and a table lamp, lamp shade and all. My first thought was, she has only a short head start on the police who must be in pursuit or she had no time at all to pack, fleeing a desperate criminal who would surely kill her. 

Why does my mind go calm-logical when the moment requires something much more animated? What can you get for 7$ that will make Ardmore a doable destination? I was still trying to get my head around the moment. I needed to pee and there I was in the parking area, trying to calculate the probability that a damaged, leaking car could get a 7$ fix. I had already pulled my wallet out and she sensed that I would in fact, help. I glanced up again as she took her far hand off the dog and moved it to the top of the steering wheel. I didn’t have 7$ but I did have a 10$ bill, weighing if I really wanted to exceed her expectations. A column of blue smoke curled over the steering wheel toward her open window. In her hand on top of the wheel she held a cigar. She was smoking a cigar, a big, long, thick cigar. The ash must have ben over an inch long and it looked like it could have stayed intact indefinitely. The lady began blubbering thank you’s as I pulled the 10$ out. I bid her Good Luck and moved around the front of her car. 

I had no regrets about the money. I seldom if ever throw money at panhandlers on street corners but this one felt right. The fact that I needed to pee may have influenced my timely forthcoming but it wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. Back in the 90’s I was at Kansas City’s airport after a long weekend in New Orleans. In the terminal I encountered a couple who had cash but were unable to rent a car because neither could produce a valid credit card. Their predicament became a spectacle and I could not, not notice. I offered them a ride to wherever they needed to go and they accepted. An obvious June-December match, he was a well worn 80 and she a cool 40-something. They met in Las Vegas a few nights earlier, got married and he was bringing her home to Kansas City. They both seemed nice enough, I didn’t know their story other than they couldn’t put their hands on any of the credentials or documents they needed. After half a day chauffeuring them from one bank to another, to his former friends homes and to his old employers he was able get a temporary pass into his condo in Independence, MO. They invited me up for a drink but I declined, trying to calculate the odds against their long term bliss. I was reminded, nothing is simple and after all, there is no fool like an old fool but then again, what do I know! 

There was nothing special about the woman’s cigar in Oklahoma other than it was the catalyst for the whole experience. Up to that point I was still trying to do the math. Tracing the column of blue smoke back to her cigar’s long ash I got what I needed, an Ah-Ha moment. Some things will never make sense but they all have a trajectory and other than random charity, I would have no significant role in that arc. The less I knew about what goes on in Ardmore the better. When I came back from the Visitor Center all I had to work with was a pool of antifreeze where she had been parked.