In the hot summer of ‘66, while skidding my toy bike in front of Lubber Run ESSO station, I received a flat tire. A man of about the age I am now, was picking up his reworked Chevy, saw my distressed look and kindly handed the shop owner a shiny Kennedy coin for quick patch of my tire.
Joyfully, I biked home to tell ma. She asked if I had thanked the nice man. I had not. So, I hastily pedaled back, shortcutting through the alley, on a mission to thank the kind sir. However, he had already left and sometimes I feel as though I’ve been trying to thank him ever since.
Last year I returned to the shopping center in a dream. I’ve done this on several occasions -both in reality and in dream- revisited this childhood
The only unchanged icon from the past is the Lubber Run Amphitheatre, where our family sometimes watched magicians perform astounding slight of hand magic tricks late into the twilight.
In the most recent dream, a new-wave mechanic shop of some sort reappears there. I gape at the shop activity with fascination, which causes a woman grinding down a modern automotive component, to come to a halt, as she steps outside to scowl at me, saying, “What the heck are you gawking at!” I slide into the shop to re-route her onto my aged ‘66 storyquest and about how I never find that elusive man. Then, I awaken to present-day
~ ~ ~
The next morning is one of the first hot dog days of summer.
The oppressive Ketchum heat is multiplying my numerous work demands into an overwhelming feeling, when suddenly a damsel in distress, calls to say she has run out of gas. I promise my help, figuring that if I skip lunch, I’ll have about twenty minutes to spare. However, the gas station attendant and I notice that whoever last borrowed their container, has so far neglected to return it. The hardware store next-door stocks zero gas cans. Suddenly, my simple task of rescuing a fair maiden has transformed into a much larger test. Every car on the road seems to be taking extra eons, being too darn courteous to let the most lackadaisical of jaywalkers cross the road. I feel stupidly frustrated and try to dig in harder to figure out some way to untwist the crushing heated day into something better.
I hoof it up to always-reliable Chateau Drug Store. There to my sweet delight, I see two gas cans sitting atop the far wall. Grabbing both, I dash back to the gas station, fill one, and then donate the second can, so that the next person, who runs out of gas, won’t have to face this same grinding aggravation. Even though this is kind Ketchum, The attendant is surprised and offers me a hot dog. I take a rain check.
Later, I mull over that old dream again. I feel that I’m a slow learner, at paying back random acts of kindness, but this time I finally got one right and figured a practical answer to the gnawing inside me about finding that impossible man.
Indeed, it feels as though I’ve finally paid - some of the karma allotted to me - back to the service station dream world deities, by probing deep to imagine what kind magic leveling act, needed performed to patch things up.
I wonder what scenario I’ll skid onto, whenever I re-dream about
~ ~ ~
Next time I pass though the old neighborhood, maybe I’ll paste this story to the reflective outer glass of whatever accepting store window, happens to be there for passerby to contemplate. Perhaps a man much like the one, who originally rescued me from the oppressive summer heat forty years ago, will enjoy a reflect like this.Sphere: Related Content