Thursday, March 31, 2005
A DEATH IN THE FAMILY
Don't panic, everyone in my family is fine. But I still feel as I've lost a dear friend - and I almost did. You see, my friend's VW Bus blew up. And her husband narrowly escaped going with it.
Michelle is one of my closest friends in the world. She is the type of friend everyone hopes to have - a sweet and generous disposition, slow to anger, quick to forgive and even quicker to laugh.
Michelle has worked for our company for a good while longer than I have. She started in Los Angeles, and then when that office closed she migrated to Houston. Throughout those years she kept up an on-again off-again dating relationship with Darren, who lived in their hometown in Washington State. When Darren finally had enough of the on-again off-again situation, he packed up his beloved 1970s-era VW Bus and drove it all the way down to Houston. I'm not sure The Bus ever left Texas again.
The Bus - and it was never called anything else - was the ugliest monstrosity you could ever imagine in your driveway. I think the roof was white, or what used to pass for white. The primary color was, well, primer. I've never envisioned The Bus with a wax job. The interior was threadbare tweed and warped plywood cabinetry, as best I remember. Heck, I didn't even know it was running when it passed away.
The Bus was as much a member of Michelle and Darren's family as their daughter Molly and their dog Tanner. The entire time I've known Michelle, The Bus has been a fixture in her driveway. Michelle and Darren could never willingly part with it, although they tossed the idea around once or twice. It just had too many memories for them. The Bus had, literally and figuratively, driven Michelle and Darren from childhood through young love and into adulthood and their family life together.
Michelle's neighbor summed up the details in an email update to his family:
As we talked to Bill, I saw a green car pull into the Greenwoods' driveway. I had not seen it before, so I kept watch. Eventually, Michelle and Molly appeared, and Michelle was carrying a child's car seat. M&M walked toward us and Michelle, carrying the car seat and other things, looked like a refugee in the Balkans.
She had a story to tell, too.
"I have not had any sleep since 3 a.m. this morning," she said. What she said calmly was horrific.
Last night when Darren was driving home from the Hobbit restaurant in the van he was on Bingle near West Little York when he discovered the van was on fire. He pulled onto the shoulder and rushed outside and within seconds the van exploded with such fury parts of it flew into the gate at Cameron Industries and melted the lock on the gate.
Darren began running toward home and stopped twice at grocery stores, including Randall's, to use the telephones but the telephones did not work (his cell phone was in the van). He ran all the way home -- I think it is more than two miles -- to wake up Michelle, and they went back in the Ford Explorer.
Not much was left except scorched pavement and melted metal.
To say the least, it was tearful for Darren. It wasn't so much that he barely escaped death, it was the realization that the fire started in the back of the van where the motor is and probably started on the freeway, but winds kept it unnoticed until he left the freeway - in the back is where Molly sits in her car seat. Had she been there....
Also he has kept the van running for 15 years, making most repairs himself, and he dearly loved it. (I remember riding in a van like that when I lived in New York in the late 1960's.)
Besides the cell phone, there were other items in the van which Darren and Michelle are now remembering.
Molly says "The van is gone," but I doubt she knows what that means. She tired of our conversation and kept saying she wanted some chocolate, so we eventually went across the street and got her some chocolate.
Some day she will be told what happened March 28, 2005, and will understand why her father had tears that day.
I'll be hugging my dear friends a little closer tomorrow...
- - -
|
Michelle is one of my closest friends in the world. She is the type of friend everyone hopes to have - a sweet and generous disposition, slow to anger, quick to forgive and even quicker to laugh.
Michelle has worked for our company for a good while longer than I have. She started in Los Angeles, and then when that office closed she migrated to Houston. Throughout those years she kept up an on-again off-again dating relationship with Darren, who lived in their hometown in Washington State. When Darren finally had enough of the on-again off-again situation, he packed up his beloved 1970s-era VW Bus and drove it all the way down to Houston. I'm not sure The Bus ever left Texas again.
The Bus - and it was never called anything else - was the ugliest monstrosity you could ever imagine in your driveway. I think the roof was white, or what used to pass for white. The primary color was, well, primer. I've never envisioned The Bus with a wax job. The interior was threadbare tweed and warped plywood cabinetry, as best I remember. Heck, I didn't even know it was running when it passed away.
The Bus was as much a member of Michelle and Darren's family as their daughter Molly and their dog Tanner. The entire time I've known Michelle, The Bus has been a fixture in her driveway. Michelle and Darren could never willingly part with it, although they tossed the idea around once or twice. It just had too many memories for them. The Bus had, literally and figuratively, driven Michelle and Darren from childhood through young love and into adulthood and their family life together.
Michelle's neighbor summed up the details in an email update to his family:
As we talked to Bill, I saw a green car pull into the Greenwoods' driveway. I had not seen it before, so I kept watch. Eventually, Michelle and Molly appeared, and Michelle was carrying a child's car seat. M&M walked toward us and Michelle, carrying the car seat and other things, looked like a refugee in the Balkans.
She had a story to tell, too.
"I have not had any sleep since 3 a.m. this morning," she said. What she said calmly was horrific.
Last night when Darren was driving home from the Hobbit restaurant in the van he was on Bingle near West Little York when he discovered the van was on fire. He pulled onto the shoulder and rushed outside and within seconds the van exploded with such fury parts of it flew into the gate at Cameron Industries and melted the lock on the gate.
Darren began running toward home and stopped twice at grocery stores, including Randall's, to use the telephones but the telephones did not work (his cell phone was in the van). He ran all the way home -- I think it is more than two miles -- to wake up Michelle, and they went back in the Ford Explorer.
Not much was left except scorched pavement and melted metal.
To say the least, it was tearful for Darren. It wasn't so much that he barely escaped death, it was the realization that the fire started in the back of the van where the motor is and probably started on the freeway, but winds kept it unnoticed until he left the freeway - in the back is where Molly sits in her car seat. Had she been there....
Also he has kept the van running for 15 years, making most repairs himself, and he dearly loved it. (I remember riding in a van like that when I lived in New York in the late 1960's.)
Besides the cell phone, there were other items in the van which Darren and Michelle are now remembering.
Molly says "The van is gone," but I doubt she knows what that means. She tired of our conversation and kept saying she wanted some chocolate, so we eventually went across the street and got her some chocolate.
Some day she will be told what happened March 28, 2005, and will understand why her father had tears that day.
I'll be hugging my dear friends a little closer tomorrow...
- - -
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