Unsinkable

Unsinkable

What might be considered an injustice by some, might be construed by others as justice served. Take, for example, the release of the Lockerbie Bomber, condemned throughout the West as a mass murderer and yet, hailed throughout Libya and the region, as a hero, upon his return there. Or perhaps, the election of Barack Obama, over John McCain and Obama’s successful re-election bid, when he trumped Mitt Romney. Some US citizens see Obama’s victories as a vehicle, for hope and change, while others see it as a betrayal of American ideals. Justice and injustice… tricky concepts, indeed. However, there is no greater injustice in this world, no, in this life, than a self-righteous, “I told you so.”

The day had started innocently enough; three old friends and their children, gathering together for some fun times; or so it seemed. My wife (now ex-wife) and I were catching up with our old friend, Scott, whom we hadn’t seen in quite some time. All of our lives had changed drastically, since we’d last seen each other. Scott was now a single father, with a son and a daughter that we had never met. Likewise, Medusa, my (ex)wife and I had brought two little boys into the world. We had made plans to renew acquaintances and to let the children play. Our target was Orr’s, a local farm market that specialized in pick your own strawberries. This activity would provide a chance for the children to burn off some energy, while the adults caught up on the intervening years. The day had dawned, bright and beautiful; a truly perfect Spring day that seemed to cloud over a bit, as we pulled up to the farm, only to see a large sign that read, “Closed on Sundays.”

Like a gaggle of geese, the children were honking and hollering; crying and screaming. Evidently, I had ruined their young lives beyond any sort of redemption and they would need years and years of therapy, to recover from the traumatizing incident. I thought of the horrors of PTSD, in ones so young, but, to be honest, my children will probably need years and years of therapy, by the time I’m done with them, anyway, so I wasn’t too worried about it. While the world was quickly coming to an end, we adults were tossing suggestions back and forth like hot potatoes. I knew deep down, that only I could come up with the master plan, to save the day. And I did. That was when I hit upon the idea of going to Back Creek. It would be fun, it was conveniently close, and best of all… it was free, which appealed to me the most, because I’m such a cheap bastard; after all, I’ve been known to squeeze a nickel until the buffalo is gasping for air. Knowing genius when they see it, everyone agreed this was a wonderful idea and we were soon on our way, Scott and his family following close behind.

When we arrived at the creek, we hopped out of our vehicles and gathered up all of the paraphernalia that you need when you travel past your driveway with children; all of the blankets and towels, bandages and tape, potions and lotions and another fifty pounds of combat gear that you load upon yourself like a pack mule. I looked up for just a moment and that was when I saw them. “Them,” being the two pickup trucks that were racing each other through the creek. I must have had quite a muse that day, as inspiration suddenly struck again. My Jeep Grand Cherokee was much larger than either of the trucks and we all know that bigger is better; the creek was incredibly low that year and I could now fulfill my lifelong ambition of being a macho, rugged guy and go four wheeling in my Jeep. It was one of those redneck, “Y’all wanna’ see something really cool,” moments. In retrospect, that alone should have been warning enough, but it wasn’t.. I announced my intentions to my (ex)wife, who gave me one of those looks that are generally reserved for the certifiably insane and while I hadn’t realized that the color on her face could actually occur in nature. For a moment, she seemed too angry to speak, but somehow she managed to splutter out the words, “Absolutely not!” It may even have been a little stronger than that. I argued my point; I had seen, with my own eyes, the two  trucks as they raced down the creek. The water was so low, there was, maybe, a one in a million chance of something going wrong. Medusa said something about, “I’ve lived here all of my life…” and that was when I pressed the mute button, while she kept prattling on about whatever she was prattling on about. While Medusa’s lips continued to move soundlessly, my mind was already in the creek, racing through the rocks with a giant rooster tail of water flying behind me. Sensing that I now had the intellect of a rock, my (ex)wife elected to walk down to the small gravel island that served as a beach and picnic area, children in tow, while Scott and I drove the Jeep down.

I stomped down on the accelerator and the Jeep took off, diving into th water, spinning and sliding; just tearing it up for a few minutes while we drove the few hundred yards down to the beach. Several times that day, I took the Jeep back into the creek, splashing through the water like a child in control of an oversized Tonka truck.. I had so much fun and laughed so hard; I loved every second of it. The children loved being able to ride through the creek with me, while I drove like a maniac. After a while, even Medusa broke down and went for a ride, trying her best not to smile, lest it split her face in half. All too soon, it seemed, fun time was over and it was time to leave.

Everyone and everything was wedged into the Jeep like a canned sardine for the trip back to shore. As we drove back into the creek, I made sure to drive a little wildly, for the benefit of the children, who were screaming up a storm in the back seat and the hatch. I turned to drive up the bank where we entered the creek, the tires churning up the water behind us, when suddenly, there was a sickeningly sharp lurch downward and to the left as the Jeep dropped into a deep hole and then the engine sputtered and died, with a sickly, watery gurgle. I couldn’t try to restart the Jeep, it would only suck more water into the engine. Not that it mattered anyway, everything was dead. I had taken the seeds of that one in a million chance of something going wrong and I had harvested a bumper crop of trouble.

I looked at my (ex)wife and I swear that I could literally see the top of her head explode and visualize the steam flying out of her ears. I think, in retrospect, that she may have been just a little bit angry with me. “I told you not to drive in the creek,” she fumed, “I told you there were hidden holes and sure enough, you’ve managed to find one!” Hidden holes? What hidden holes? She had never said anything about hidden holes, to me. It was then that comprehension dawned upon me, enlightening me with an epiphany, of sorts. Perhaps she had said something while I was daydreaming and had tuned out the sound of her voice. I really hate that feeling that I get, when I realize that I’m wrong and there was no way that I was going to open my mouth to try to defend myself. How on Earth was I going to get myself out of this mess? Being the genius that I am, I quickly surmised that the quickest way out would be to open the door and get out of the Jeep, which I did.

As half of the creek cascaded into the Jeep, I jumped out and found myself deeper in the creek than the Jeep was. I climbed out of the hole that I was in and walked around the Jeep, appraising the situation. Ironically, the depth of the water on the passenger side of the Jeep was only ankle deep. I thought that Scott and I could just push the Jeep up onto the bank; it was only a few feet. Well, we pushed and we pushed and then we pushed some more, all to no avail. Medusa joined in and still nothing. To add insult to injury, I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I slipped and fell, falling face first, into the water. While I might not have been stuck, the Jeep certainly was; it wasn’t going anywhere, without help. We, meaning I, had to come up with a different plan.

It worked out that Scott would take me home to get our other vehicle and then he and I would return to the creek to retrieve everyone else. We stopped at my mechanic’s shop (it was on the way) to ask him to tow the Jeep back to his garage and to see if it was salvageable. Of course, I had to explain the whole story to the mechanic, while he looked at me, the entire time, in total bewilderment, as if he had never seen a bigger idiot in his entire life. I’m sure my (ex)wife would have concurred. He looked at me and said, “Don’t you know there’s hidden holes in that creek?” After everyone in the shop finished laughing at me (I’m pretty sure that even his mangy old dog was giggling), Scott dropped me off at my house and I drove our other SUV back to the creek to pick up my family. When I arrived back at the creek, there was a new surprise awaiting me; the Jeep was now out of the water and on the opposite bank! My wife quickly explained that a Good Samaritan had come along and winched the Jeep over to the other side. This was quite a mixed blessing; the vehicle was now out of the water (good thing) and the engine could dry out. However, I would now look like an even bigger idiot, because I couldn’t even accurately describe where the Jeep was located!

The drive home was made in a stony silence; Medusa just kept shaking her head. It wasn’t until after we arrived home that the “I told you so” demon escaped from the bottle. The day had become a loaded shotgun and Medusa let loose with both barrels. What could I say in my defense? Nothing, that’s what. I had done something incredibly stupid, so I just stood there and took the barrage. I hadn’t listened to my (ex)wife, who, impossibly, for the first time in her life, was actually correct about something. I was angry, too; seething inside, but there was not a word that I could say. I just prayed that the Jeep was repairable; it was her vehicle, after all.

The next day, our mechanic called to inform me of the damage. Other than having to replace the spark plugs and change the sir filter, we had been lucky. And everything else was fine. There was no sign of water in the oil or in the gas tank and I thanked my lucky stars that all was well and the cost was minimal. Well, minimal when compared to the cost of buying a new Jeep. Two hundred dollars had just gone flying out the window and I knew that I would hear about that too, once I told my (ex)wife. I knew that I would have another large plate of crow to eat that evening (Please note that crow tastes nothing like chicken) and I did. It was only marginally wose than the year before, when I sank the Jeep in the mud, up to the driver’s side window and on an angle as well, when I took the Jeep four wheeling in the same area, but that’s another story.

In hindsight, I should have listened to my (ex)wife, instead of daydreaming. She’s lived in this area for most of her life, while at the time, I was still a semi-recent transplant to West Virginia and the whole farm living is the life for me, thing. I should have listened, but of course, I knew better. My (ex)wife had many long years in which to smugly lord this incident over me and I firmly believe to this day, that there is no greater injustice in this life than an “I told you so”.