Hell on Wheels

There is an abandoned car on the side of the highway, across from my office building. Every time I walk into my boss's office, the conference room, or even stand up from my desk, I can see it. And every time, I smile.

You see, that is an older model Crown Victoria--same kind and color my grandparents drove. The same kind and color that my grandmother took to her grave with her. Yes. She took it with her.

She never liked having other people drive her car. No matter that she had stopped driving years prior, and wasn't even tall enough to see over the steering wheel at the end. She did not want anyone else to have that car. She constantly groused that various members of the family wanted and were trying to take her car from her. Much like she often swore she was being starved, ignored, or abused.

The day she died, one of my cousins was driving the car. My understanding is that at the same hour Grandma lost her fight, that car broke down on the side of a San Antonio highway, in such disrepair that it cost more to tow it than the car was worth. In my mind's eye, I see that woman's angry ghost going and snatching the soul of that vehicle right out from under my poor cousin, and then driving that Ford through the Pearly Gates. I don't mean driving through them as they were being opened for her either. I mean, I picture her barreling right into them, with St. Peter as a hood ornament.

God bless you, Grandma. Thanks for the laughs. I'm pretty sure you knew I needed them this week.