Nov 18, 2022 4 min read

Is there anything as frustrating, worrisome and inconvenient as having a weird light start flashing on the car dashboard? On a Saturday? When a ways from home? When you live alone?

That happened last Saturday. While driving to the post office, not one but four lights went a-flashing, including one I’d never seen before. AT-something, it said, in flashing red.

I knew that if I pulled over to consult the owner’s manual, I’d find an all-caps warning to park the car and have it towed. And in fact, that’s what the manual said, and geez, that would be some fun – calling for a tow truck and finding a rental car so that I could continue my busy weekend.

When the cascade of trouble begins, you start paging through your mental Rolodex of options. Close friends live a mile away from me and would help, but they were out of town at a funeral. Another friend was busy helping her sister recover from surgery. My daughter would help, but she was an hour away in West Virginia.

I called for a rental car. Turns out those places close at noon on Saturday and it was now 11:58. And so I sat there in the store parking lot, reclined my seat, closed my eyes and felt sorry for myself.

I don’t mind being single; these years since my previous relationship ended, I’ve come to enjoy the solitude. I’m a “free man in Paris,” as Joni Mitchell famously sang. Oddly, being alone has opened up my life in new ways, with new friends and new adventures big and small. I don’t cook much these days, but I read more than ever. And Smoothie likes me best now.

But aloneness has some downsides, and I was feeling some of it in my hobbled car that morning. Reluctantly, I did what I’d considered a last resort and called my parents.

Could I borrow their car? And would Dad meet me at the service place?

He did, of course. As I drove him back home so I could continue on my day with his car, I found myself behind the wheel, with him in the passenger seat, for probably the first time in decades. There was a bit of a flashback to 1976, when he was teaching me to drive. The first thing he told me back then was to drive with my left foot off to the side, so I don’t get things tangled down by the pedals. I don’t know if he noticed this time, but I still do that. Dear ol’ Dad taught me well.

After each visit home, he walks me out to my car and checks the inspection sticker. He’s saved me trouble with that, more than a few times. He’s also noticed when I’ve had a brake or signal light missing. A visit home is like a trip to Jiffy Lube.

That morning last weekend, I was able to safely drive my car a few miles to the service place. There was something wrong with the transmission, and 2,500 bucks later I’m back in business. My parents have their car back.

The whole thing has made me think about what people do who lack the money to pay for an expensive repair, or don’t have partners to help them in a transportation crisis. Or parents who are always happy to help.

I guess those people call a tow truck and find a bus to take home. Things didn’t come to that for me last weekend. I may live alone these days, but as it turns out, I’m not really alone at all.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.