To his credit, Juan slated another driving test for the same time, December 20. A different preceptor, Gary, instructed me to wait inside. A few minutes later, Juan sat down next to me.
"I told you, mom. The car didn't pass inspection. Something about the tires," he shrugged. I went outside to inquire. Jason was there helping someone else. I mentioned to Gary that the car had passed Jason's inspection two weeks prior.
"Listen, if you can find a different car and be back here by one o'clock, Juan can take the test. Let me put you into the system's time slot," said Gary. He stopped what he was doing to go inside and make the arrangements. I appreciated the gesture, though I was disappointed.
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The ride was quiet all the way home. I hadn't formulated a back-up plan, except for prayer. Really. It's a longstanding, first-line strategy to call in the BIG guns BEFORE all else fails. Then I heard a still small voice say, "What the heck, Lyn? You know people. Call them and ask." I stopped crying (I swear, I'm like a little kid) and blew my nose.
Cell phone cradled in one hand and fingertip scrolling through my contacts, I quickly eliminated many peeps because I know they work during the day. Aha! James and Lena Terry, my next-door neighbors.
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I explained the dilemma to Lena who was on her way to work in Vista. She said she would call her husband, James, who was somewhere close to home. I'm not kidding – two minutes, two seconds later, James was knocking at my door.
"Lyn, I understand there's a young man here who needs a car and a licensed driver for his test," James said. Juan stood behind me in the entry way.
"Yeah. I don't mean to impose," I said.
"No imposition at all. I just got home from the gym, so give me about ten minutes. Juan, meet me in my garage. You're going to drive me down there in the Mercedes," James instructed.
"No way!" I said, barely containing my uber-appreciation.
"Ten minutes," he said.
"I'll meet you guys there," I said. I've attached photos of James and his red, convertible, 1989, classic Mercedes Benz, with Juan sitting in the driver's seat.
Both the car and Juan passed the DMV test. Afterward, we went out to lunch at Fillippis: Filippis Pizza Grotto Temecula. We celebrated, giving thanks to God. I have a friend, Carl, who says, 'prayer's a bad motor scooter'. In this case, it was a classic Mercedes. God's not about cheese n' crackers, either. We ate lasagna, thick crust, pepperoni pizza and the salad with house dressing (The Family Feast), celebrating Juan's accomplishment and the Terry's generosity.
Now, if anyone's seen my son around town - assuming he's still stateside -- tell him to call his mom.
Lynda StarWriter is a freelance writer and public speaker. lyndastarwriter@aol.com ~ www.starwriterweely.com
