<p>“Friday is John Davis’ 90th birthday. If we are going to send a card, we need to get it in the mail today,” Becky said.</p>
<p>She went inside, searched her card stash and found a good one, then came back outside and together we decided what to write. She was addressing the envelope when we saw Theresa’s mail car driving away from our mailbox.</p>
<p>“Not a problem,” I said, “I’ll run it over to the Morgantown post office. No need to get out of the car; I won’t even change out of my jammie pants. Take me 15, 20 minutes, tops.”</p>
<p>It would be close, but if I got it there by 4 p.m. it would go out today. I grabbed my wallet and keys and headed out. I was a mile into the three-mile drive when I realized I didn’t have my phone. “Not a problem,” I thought. “Who am I gonna call?”</p>
<p>Three vehicles were in front of me waiting to turn left when I got to the intersection by the railroad tracks. They were stymied by a long line of cars queued behind a school bus waiting to cross the tracks. The red warning lights for oncoming trains were blinking but no train was in sight. “Maybe the law says bus drivers are not allowed to cross if the warning lights are flashing,” I thought. Eventually those in front of me turned right, and so did I. I figured to take a couple of left turns onto some back streets and get to the post office without another hitch. Not a problem.</p>
<p>Another school bus was waiting at the railroad crossing on the parallel street I had taken, but after a pause, it crossed and continued on its delivery of school kids. Slowly I worked my way to my destination.</p>
<p>When I arrived the post office parking lot was empty, so I pulled up alongside the front doors to double-check the hours. I pulled away planning to drop the card in the drive-up box. That’s when I drove over the concrete curb.</p>
<p>I could hear the hiss of escaping air from the front driver’s side tire. It had been a while since I had changed a tire, and had never done so on this fairly new vehicle, but I knew the routine. I pulled the spare and tools out, got to work with the jack, then wobbled the flat tire to the back of the car. It made sense to go ahead and lift it in, I thought, but as I did, I felt the car lurch forward and heard the bare rotor hit the pavement.</p>
<p>“Hmm. Should have put the spare on first. Guess I don’t remember the routine as well as I thought.”</p>
<p>Inspecting the jack, which was now not holding up the car, I discovered I could not fix it back to its proper position. Then I saw Theresa drive her mail car around to the back of the post office. I wondered if she would take the birthday card and also if I might borrow her phone.</p>
<p>“Of course,” she said.</p>
<p>I knew Becky wouldn’t answer since she wouldn’t recognize the number, so I left a message. I thanked Theresa and went back to the crippled car.</p>
<p>About this time, Dan from the House of Clocks, a local business in Morgantown, walked by with some mail in his hand. He could see what the problem was and immediately pitched in to help. Together we repositioned the jack and got the spare securely on the rotor. It didn’t seem to be too badly damaged, but I would have it checked. I thanked Dan profusely for his help.</p>
<p>“Not a problem,” he said.</p>
<p>It was about this time Becky pulled up in our other car. The railroad warning lights were still flashing as we headed home, but now two Morgantown police officers were keeping the highway traffic moving. As I drove, I remembered to give thanks for Theresa and for Dan and for the small town where we live.</p>
<p>Happy 90th birthday, John Davis. Hope you like the card.</p>
<p><em>Norman Knight, a retired Clark-Pleasant Middle School teacher, writes this weekly column for the Daily Journal. Send comments to <a href="mailto:[email protected]">[email protected]</a>.</em></p>
