History Is How We Live
A tale of accidental encounters
The first thing he said was disarming and honest, “that’s 100 percent my fault.”
I was driving my decidedly neglected, yet loved, 2013 Honda Odyssey over the George Washington Bridge. It was just a few days before the new year.
A car changed lanes or tried to. We were in the way. It had all the hallmarks of an accident. It seemed to unfold in slow motion, the sound of crumpling metal, and a quick “is everyone OK?” to my passengers.
“John,” as I’ll call him, pulled over hazards on and instantly took responsibility. He was on his way to get a Christmas present for one of his children. A desk. He seemed stressed in a way more complex that the accident would make a person. The gift was late. He’d been talking to their mother about dropping it off. I was eager to get us all on our way.
We exchanged information and took a few pictures. He asked about arranging to fix it. I explained we were away for a few days so there was no rush. I added that I was happy to take it to “His Guy.” I texted him a photo as we stood on the side of the road. I wished him luck with the gift. Then we parted company.
After a lovely, if wet, few days in upstate New York we returned to the city. On Monday I texted “John.” He replied quickly asking when it would be convenient for me to visit “His Guy.” In the end we agreed to meet in Hunts Point the following day at 7:30AM.
It was a cold damp morning. As I sat in my car at the spot I reminisced. Hunts Point is a beehive of activity in the morning. I spent a bit of time there years ago doing a documentary short on the produce market and have loved it since.
My friend, “John", arrived and I pulled the car into the shop. “His Guy” spoke in Spanish, and the little I could understand made it clear I needed a new front left quarter panel. Something they didn’t have.
John made a few calls and we jumped in his car in search of the piece we needed. First stop didnt have it. More calls and we jumped back in his car with the hope of finding it just around the corner.
Car parts are weird. A car is totaled and parts within the car aren’t. We found ourselves at a place made for these items in transition. A place cars go to die and the parts are reborne.
With the panel in hand we went back to “His Guy.” A bit more conversation and we agreed to leave and come back later that day. But more likely tomorrow. The new piece needed paint and that wouldn’t be ready soon.
At about 7AM the next morning John texted, “car is ready.” He offered to pick me up or drop the car off. I went with option one. We had chatted about our kids, their schools, and wanting to do more for them. We talked about life. I was reminded of Irish writer WB Yeats and some words he used well.
“The history of a country is not in parliaments and battlefields, but in what people say to each other on fair days and on high days and how they farm and marry and quarrel and go on pilgrimages.” -WB YEATS
I find these few words increasingly relevant in our disorienting modern reality. On the journey to Hunts Point I thought about how this could have gone. Less well, to be sure.
We got to the shop. We briefly chatted with a man who was sipping ginger tea. We discussed the benefits of ginger for stomach issues. It turns out that’s why he drinks it. John and I explained we had just met and not much more.
The car looked good. Better than before. I thanked “His Guy.” Thanked John. As I got to my car to leave “Ginger Tea” yelled, “wait, is that the guy whose car you fucked up?” We all had a good laugh and went on with our days.
If you’ve made it this far I’ll offer you this. Be calm in reaction to all things. Our lives are all that we do, people we meet, and places we go. We are bombarded with large concerns. Events that begin or end in places like parliaments and battlefields. We do so at a cost. We lose sight of things that matter as much. The history we live in the space we have some control of. How we work, love, and live.
This week is one year since the attack on the Capitol. I mark that anniversary. But I look forward to marking this week, for another reason, a year from now. It will be the week a total stranger took responsibility, made it right and became a friend.
I started reading and thought "GW bridge, minivan crash, i've-got-a-guy" and was braced for a different landing. Calm in Reaction is a good motto. Happy New Year.