Valentimes: Worst and Best of Times

With one hand grasping my phone and the other on the wheel, I looked up to see two rabbits in the middle of my lane just beyond the end of the bridge. I pumped my brakes. The bridge had become slick from the freezing mist, my tires had no grip on the glazed surface. With a single hand on the steering wheel, in a blink of an eye I was out of control spinning like a carnival ride -- only there were no rails or mechanical safety restraints for my vehicle, this wild ride was uncontrollable and unpredictable. The oncoming old Volvo somehow squeezed past me onto the bridge just as I went careening across the centerline into the other lane. My efforts to correct my skid were of no avail. Spinning out of control, I veered over to the roadway's edge. The centripetal force from the rapid rotation caused me to brush the accelerator. My car sped off of the bridge's apron, in my panic I recovered enough to stomp on the brake pedal, but by then I was already sliding down the embankment. I slid to a stop as my car smashed into the sideyard fence of an older residence. I shifted into park and shut off the engine. I did not feel injured, I felt seething anger. How could I lose control? I have crucial errands to complete and a precise timetable. After all of my careful planning, how could this happen to me? I hated myself for being in this position and I hated myself for panicking and not being able to control my skid. I didn't deserve this wreck; I had everything planned out so carefully.

I needed to regain control, mental control of my situation. I sat buckled into my seat and drew several deep breaths to get my mind back in the game. I would need all of my mental facilities to reason my way out of this unplanned calamity.

I searched for where I dropped my phone. I swiveled my neck around, looking for where it may have landed, only to feel a sharp, painful jolt shoot through my neck and shoulders. Maybe I was injured. I made a mental note: that physical maneuver should not be tried again, too painful. I reclined my power seat partially back, allowing me to look into the back seat without doing violence to my cervical vertebrae. The phone was on the floor of the backseat passenger's side. Gingerly, I extended my right arm and picked it up and felt a little bit of tingling pain in my neck and shoulders. As I pulled my device into my lap, I saw that my screen had a spider-web fracture. I had a buddy who could do the repairs, but this was inconvenient at the least; I hoped that I could still retrieve my messages.

My phone powered up fine, I was relieved. Cynthia's text message better be something important (irrationally, I still assumed it was Cynthia's text). This afternoon had just turned into a major disaster and I had yet to check off a single item on my Valentine's spreadsheet. As suspected, my last text came in from Cynthia at 4:28. I peered through the distorted and shattered screen to catch the texted communication from my sweetheart: "Gary. I've changed. I no longer want to be seeing you. Bye."

I did not believe what I thought I had read -- or more likely somehow misread. What I thought I'd read in Cynthia's text may have been distorted by the fractured screen, or maybe my mind was playing tricks on me after a harrowing spin-out and smash-up just beyond the guardrail of this bridge. I inhaled another couple of deep breaths to clear my brain. I would do the most basic of technological maneuvers when one first encounters a problem -- reboot. This simple toggle: power off, power on; remedied a surprising number of issues. If it works for electronics, it should work for glitches in the human mind and in relationship also. It seemed like a probable first step for me. If I depressed my power button to shut down and reset everything, I would expect to find the real message from Cynthia once I re-energized my device. I convinced myself not expect the message which I had imagined that I'd just read to reappear. This will be just a matter of waiting a few moments for my screen to power up again; then everything will be fine and back to normal. Before restarting my device, I placed my phone on the dashboard. I needed that moment. I felt chaos rampaging through my mind; no doubt a result of so many crazy things hitting me in quick succession. I do not like surprises and I detest feeling at the mercy of this multitude of surprises ganging up on me and smothering me in this mental chaos. I had to fight this swirling chaos with the power of reason. I reasoned that if I just gave myself a moment of calm and reflective thought, everything would snap right back into its proper place and sequence. It had to; I'd planned all of the details so carefully just so there would be no surprises and nothing would go wrong.

I was ready to restart my phone and step back into control of the situation when I was startled by a woman slapping my window glass with open palms like a demon-possessed bongo player, shouting "Hey man! Hey man! Get out! Get out!"

Her cacophony of glass smacking slaps and full throated shouts jolted me into another panic. I assumed that I was in imminent danger. Was my gas tank about to explode? I released my seatbelt and threw open my door as she twirled out of its way and lost her footing and slipped down the muddy embankment. I too lost my footing, slipping on the slick and tilted earth, wrenching my back as I toppled down upon her just as she was regaining her footing, only to be bowled over by my cascading limbs. My head landed between her widely sprawled legs covered in a wool skirt. With a loud "Ahh-Umph!" she shoved me off of her in a move of obvious self-preservation, but what also sounded like the universally recognized sound of human disgust. From her position with her head pointing down-slope she jabbed my left shoulder and throat with her hands to force me off of her. I again winced as a sharp pain shot through my neck and I let out a groan as I rolled to my left and off of her legs.

"Hey Man! Whatdaya think you're doing?" She scrambled to her feet, clad in calf-length colorful socks with horizontal stripes and a pair of robust leather sandals. "Hey man! You and your crazy driving let that dog get out of that fence!" She pointed at a white terrier sprinting across the bridge and toward the wooded hillside. "We have to go get the fur baby and bring it back! It's immoral and unsafe to let it go running off down the road on a cold day like today!"

I rose to my feet, brushed the damp earth from my knees and back pockets and tried to stand upright, gritting my teeth through the shooting pain in my neck and shoulders. "I thought you were warning me that my car was about to explode. I thought I was in danger. But you're worried about a dog getting out of the fence?"

She tugged at the deep blue wool coat that fell to her hips and bundled it tight across her torso while she stared into my eyes incredulously; she held her gaze, set her jaw and then as if she were an All-American linebacker, she thrust both arms into my chest, which sent me sprawling back onto the sloped embankment. I fell onto the soft ground, it wasn't the fall that hurt, but more the pain in trying to regain my stance using muscles in my back that I didn't even know that I had. "Yes. You are in danger if you let anything happen to the little fur baby. Come on man! We have to go rescue him!"

The eyes of this woman glared at me, expecting me to sprint up the muddy bank in pursuit of some damn dog. It was my turn to try on an incredulous face as I returned her glare. "Hey lady, I'm hurt. Maybe you failed to notice but I was just in a car wreck and your attacks upon my person have not made me feel any better for being roughed up."

"Okay man, sorry for my physicality -- I can heal you up later. But I don't see blood or anything, you seem all right and it'll work better if the two of us act as a team." She flanked me and stood above me on the slope and reached for my hand to help pull me up toward the roadway.

As she tugged my wrist, I felt an electric numbing run from my elbow to my shoulder. "Ah! That's painful! It hurts my shoulder. That is not helpful." She stopped pulling on me.

"Sorry. Should I push you from behind?" She asked with a discordant note of considerable sincerity. I thought to myself, Oh, I get it now. I've been rescued by a bi-polar schitzo that is playing 'good cop -- bad cop' with me.

Through gritted teeth and baby steps which I hoped telegraphed my aches to my rescuer, I replied, "No thanks. Let me walk up on my own please."

She was waiting for me on the shoulder of the pavement above where my tires had made deep grooves in the mud as they started their descent downhill and into the fence. She smiled at me as I dropped my head and rested my palms on my knees; whether it was a smile of sympathy or a smile of impatience, I could not be sure. "Come on. Let's take care of that little fur baby and then we can get you back on the road. I don't think this will take too long. Are you with me?"

I followed as best I could as she walked briskly across the bridge. She gave the 'thumbs up' signal to a couple of cars that slowed to observe the accident and presumably to ask if everyone was all right and to offer assistance if it was needed. But no, they were being waved on down the road by this woman as if everything was just fine and dandy. I was wishing one of these other motorists would have been the first one upon the scene, rather than this woman who had me marching toward a forested hillside in near freezing weather in search of a runaway dog. On the far side of the bridge she opened up the back of her Volvo and pulled out an army surplus blanket and held it out, waiting for me to catch up and join her. I quickened my pace knowing I had some assignment about to be given to me involving this blanket.

"Here you go. You get to use this," as she dumped the folded army green blanket into my hands. "You will be the backstop. Once we find him, I will try and calm him down by projecting tranquil peace energy. But if he's still too panicked, your job will be to spread this blanket if he runs toward you and scoop him up and hold him until I can reassure him and make him feel safe and secure." I received the blanket; it appeared that I had no choice in the matter. She slammed the hatch shut on her Volvo with its emergency flashers blinking on the road's shoulder. She spotted the terrier scampering along a trail on the creek bank, "Look! He's right over there! Quick come on -- but don't you scare him."

I marched in pursuit of this woman in Birkenstock sandals and striped knee socks as she jogged in pursuit of a terrier enjoying its new found freedom. The chaos in my head now felt frothy like the soap suds spilling out of an overloaded washing machine whipped into an amorphous blob by the agitator. My head was spinning; not from my accident but from my current circumstances. How did I end up like this so fast? What am I now, the newly deputized town dog catcher? Am I the utilitarian 'backstop' for this 'team' playing in this frozen evening adventure in pursuit of a 'fur baby'? Unreal. As I trudged up the slippery trail along the creek, I thought to myself; Gary, you're certainly no literary scholar of metaphors, but have I not been conscripted by Captain Ahab in maniacal pursuit of this great white terrier? If I remembered my Freshman Literature class, it didn't end well for those chasing Moby Dick. Call me Ishmael; maybe I'll be lucky and survive this catastrophic day.

I struggled to bring back some sanity to the situation through reason. I struggled because there was no sanity, there was no reason. I felt like I'd been sucked through an intergalactic wormhole and had been spit out into an upside down universe. I do not like surprises, and this is exactly why. This wasn't fair. I had my plans. I had it all arranged so perfectly. I need reason. I need cold, hard facts. I checked off a mental list of damage assessments; I've smashed my car, I've smashed my phone, I've smashed some neck bones or at least strained some important muscles, I've lost control of my own authority and purpose to some hippy chick who has relegated me to the role of dog catcher. And certainly not least, Cynthia may have smashed our relationship and to top off this insanity; I am way off schedule for the jeweler and florist. But if I read what I thought I read in Cynthia's text; maybe these last errands are no longer so important. Too many damned surprises. I hate surprises.

I rebooted my mind into 'recovery mode'. How do I extract myself from this chaos and bring some much needed order back into my life?

Step 1: Catch the damn dog.

Step 2: Back out of this situation gracefully, but quickly.

Step 3: Double check text from Cynthia. Regroup on strategic high ground; if Cynthia dumped me the day before Valentines...

"Hey man! He's coming your way!" The woman ahead of me had gotten in front of the dog as he stopped at a tree stump to deliver some of his canine pee-mail. In the deepening twilight along the wooded trail, she was herding our quarry by moving her arms in slow, random circular motions as she was chanting some mantra to the dog as he turned and was headed toward me. "Focus your energy; you are a backstop. Be a soft, impenetrable obstacle. You have the chance, focus deep, you will be successful. Focus your energy now."

Damn her. Damn those new age instructions and those touchy-feely exhortations; "be the backstop" - really? A normal person would just say, "Catch the damn dog!" I grabbed a corner of the blanket in each hand and was preparing to spread it wide to snare this critter once he came close. I stood still in the middle of the path with a slight crouch. The dog came trotting toward me, slowed, paused at the sight of me and then sprinted to my right. He tried to bust through the brambles of a dead bush to avoid me, but I dropped the blanket on him as he was momentarily repulsed by bare branches. I stooped to wrap him tight. The flashes of pain in my upper back made me regret the physical sacrifice. I tucked the wool blanket under his belly and held him to my chest as I fumbled to get a secure grip. His teeth found plenty of soft flesh between my thumb and pointer finger with his quick strike. I held the dog tighter, but moved my hand away from the head and under the relative safety of the thick wool folds.

Captain Ahab came jogging up to me, "You caught the damn dog!" She was beaming with glistening eyes as she reached for the dog's head with both hands and petted it without any signs of aggression from it. "Hold him while I send some peace energy to the poor baby."

After a few moments focused on the dog wrapped in my arms, apparently receiving 'some peace energy'; she turned to me standing in the cold and now dark forest path with a throbbing right hand. "Did the poor fur baby try to bite you?"

"There is no try. There is only do or not do. Damn right! This dog did not try and bite me, he did." I wasn't even sorry for the biting sarcasm while venting my pain and frustration.

I thought this chick would likely punch me in the chest again, but what I got in response to my sharp tone of voice was an immediate look of warm and sincere sympathy and she stepped close to me, she put her hands softly on my shoulders as she leaned into my back. "I'm sorry to hear that. You've been a huge help to me and this little guy. I have failed to realize that you have just been through a whole lot of negativity; for that I am quite grieved. Please accept my peace and my apologies for neglecting your wellbeing."

"Yeah, you don't know the half of it. But thanks for not roughing me up anymore."

She winced at my backhanded acceptance of her apology with a squinched-up face as she let out a sigh as my verbal dart hit her. Then she muffled a small giggle, "OK. Let's get out of this weather. We'll get this guy back home and then maybe I could help you transcend into a healing space for your bite - and I promise, no more roughing you up. You've been a wonderful help, and I mean it."

The cold mist was forming small dew drops on my hair as we walked in silence down the dark path. We came out of the woods and the woman skipped ahead of me, opening the passenger door of her Volvo and motioned me to get in. I slid onto the seat as she slammed the door shut once I and dog were properly set. I was afraid to let go of the damn dog, so I did not bother to buckle my seatbelt, which made me nervous, especially after my recent experiences. She turned the keys which were still in the ignition and whipped around in a U-turn and drove across the bridge back toward the house with the hole punched in its fence, the home of this damn dog. The bridge pavement was slicker than before, but this time there were no rabbits to avoid and we crossed safely. We turned left a half a block from where my car stood amid the splintered boards. We eased into the driveway and parked close to the front walk that led to the door.

"You hold onto our fur baby with both hands, I'll open your door and let you out. I hope we can find someone home to return this guy safe and sound." I sat while she came around and opened the door so I could turn my hips and drop my feet onto the cement drive. With some soreness, I managed to stand upright and take some careful steps toward the front door. I waited, embracing the dog as she pressed the doorbell button. I could hear the TV blaring as we waited. I could hear a paced, click, click, click approaching the door; the porch light was turned on and the door opened slightly ajar with a timid motion. An elderly woman with a walker was standing behind the door.

"Rascal! Oh, were did you find him? Oh my goodness, I didn't even know he was out. My, my! Oh my poor Rascal!" Joyful to see her dog back home, she threw the door open wider and beckoned us to come inside with her companion. Once the door was closed behind me, I was relieved to drop Rascal onto the floor and he was eager to be welcomed home by the woman.

The hippy chick standing in the entry hall spoke to the woman as a way of explaining what had happened to her dog. "Sorry for the inconvenience ma'am, but we noticed your dog, Ol' Rascal, had gotten out and with the help of this fine gentleman, we were able to persuade him to come back home where it is warm and he's much loved."

"Why you are such a nice young couple, I want to thank you so much. But I wonder how Rascal got out of his yard?" asked the woman with concern.

"Well, unfortunately, your fence has a hole in it and Rascal saw an opportunity for an evening stroll I guess." Her explanation was perhaps truthful, but it lacked the direct cause and effect that I usually like to employ in such circumstances. However, I was fine with the nebulous approach in this one instance.

"Oh my! A hole? A hole in my fence? You don't say?" The woman's face was showing more concern with the unfolding explanation being provided.

"Well, yes. Your fence has developed a recent hole due to a car crash. Don't worry - everybody is fine. Very minor incident really; a car happened to slide off the end of the bridge and down into your fence. It's just a few boards that can easily be patched up." Our elderly host was still looking concerned, even after the soothing down-play of the accident.

"My goodness. Where are the people that broke my fence and let Rascal get away?"

Sheepishly, I looked across to the homeowner, "Those people is a single person. I'm the one who hit your fence trying not to run over a couple of rabbits. Sorry. Believe me, I am so sorry."

With a gallant attempt to get everyone past the awkwardly evolving situation, my dog-catching partner spoke up, "Do you have anything in your garage or in the backyard that we could use to temporarily patch up your fence hole? We can come back here from the lumberyard tomorrow and replace all of the broken boards." She turned her head to look at me, expecting me to agree to the plan which sounded like it would get me off the hook and make me look like a sweet guy who just had a bad day. Directing her question to me, "We will do that tomorrow once the lumberyard is open, won't we?"