Part Two

Had I been athletic enough to do cartwheels across the parking lot I would have. Instead, I took it like a man, and immediately galloped off to call Rachel’s Mom. This phone call resulted in plans that Rachel was unaware of. Her mother and I decided I would ring the doorbell at six-o-clock on Friday morning. In order to arrive at six-o-clock, I needed to leave Fairfax Thursday evening and drive through the night.
I was well ahead of schedule and stopped to rest. However, I soon realized that rest was not a possibility. I called Rachel’s mother and asked, "Is it okay if I am thirty minutes early?"
"Sure," Donna replied, "We will be looking for you."
As I drove timidly in the lane, Donna came slinking out the door. "Rachel is still in bed. Come on in and make yourself at home."
We quietly slipped back into the house and I realized I was not the only visitor. Audrey Henderson, one of Rachel’s friends from Dryden, convinced Rachel that she needed to make a trip upstairs. Rachel finally consented, pulling herself out of her bed and came stumbling up the stairs. As she came reeling across the living room, she saw someone sitting on the rocking chair. He had a goofy looking grin on his face, like the hound dog you catch gnawing on your shoes. That goofy grin shocked her vocal cords into action, and as she fell limply onto the sofa and shrieked, "I am not dressed, my hair isn’t combed, I look like a fright!"
Well, Rachel soon got over her fright and returned the favor by driving her little bug at an incredible speed for such a quiet young lass. As I bounced around like a cork in a bottle, I thought my goodness, she really needs a husband, she drives like a maniac!
She, like me, must not have understood what the word slow meant, in driving, or in our relationship. On different occasions both sets of parents solemnly tried to explain to us that a slow relationship would be in order. I should state that "slow" was not a word I was acquainted with. I had never done anything slow in my life, why start now? I was courtin with sword and pistol by my side.
May twenty-eight, nineteen, hundred and ninety-three was a big day for us. Rachel caught a ride to Breezewood, Pennsylvania. I picked her up there, and we began driving to Guys Mills, Pennsylvania, where Rachel would officially meet my parents, Milo and Mary Sue.
We were traveling west on the despised turnpike, when our romantic mood was brought to an abrupt halt by a very loud and disturbing, KAPOW.
"Flat tire," I said pulling over. I got out and calmly began putting on the itsy-bitsy spider tire. This tire looked like it was lacking in the air department also. We crept ahead, the speedometer registering a paltry thirty-five miles an hour. When we reached the next rest area, I grabbed the air hose and applied the nozzle to the valve stem. Gazing into my fair lady’s eyes my mind strayed far away from the task at hand. I was brought back to reality when this tire also gave an exasperated BLAMO. I looked down in disbelief. Lying on the ground in front of me was my spider tire, a shredded piece of rubber. I told Rachel, "Uh, I think I put to much air in that tire."
"I see," she replied calmly.
"What should I do now," I muttered quietly under my breath? The service center was closed. "Guess I will call daddy."
I found a pay phone and dialed the phone number. When Daddy answered the phone I said, "Daddy, we have a flat tire and have no way of getting one that isn’t flat. Could someone bring us a tire or come down and help us?"