I was returning from London this afternoon on our local freeway. I took the off ramp towards Belmont and braked to the stop sign. To my right were two lanes in my direction which merged into one a couple of hundred metres away. To my left was the freeway overpass and I saw no one coming. I pulled into the right lane and put on my left turn signal. My side mirror showed a motorcyclist zooming along the left lane towards me.
If you were a fiction writer, how would you finish this story? With a spectacular crash and heroic rescue? A near miss? The truth was far less dramatic.
I let the motorcyclist go past and then moved into the left lane. He or she waved.
And I paused, feeling a warmth course through me. I pondered the beauty and the simplicity. It was a “thank you”.
About a week ago, I was driving to the school where I volunteer. It’s way out in the country, surrounded by corn and soybean fields. Almost all the students are bussed, but there is an exception. I started braking in preparation for turning left into the parking lot. I glanced left to the house beside the school and there was a girl walking down the driveway. She waved at me. The same warmth, the same smile. Contact.
Three summers ago, I went on a road trip to Western Canada to visit some of Jody’s relatives and a few old friends of mine. I stayed a couple of nights with a marvelous family near Kamloops, B.C. We laughed a lot. When it was time to say goodbye, I hugged everyone and got in Scarlet. As I drove down their lane, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Three human beings were standing in front of their house, each of them waving to me. Ditto again.
I see you