Exit Points

My 1^st Exit Point:

In a Sandra Browne book I read once, she describes ‘Exit Points’.  Every human being (supposedly) has 5 of those ‘Exit Points’ where they can choose to either leave this world …or stay.  I am sure a zillion people have had near death experiences.  During one of these experiences, it never crossed my mind that it was a near death experience thank God, but it was one nevertheless.

I was about eight years old.  I had a best friend who didn’t live very far away, but far enough that I had to be driven to her house.   We would trade weekends; she would spend a weekend with me then I would go to her house.  It was one of those weekends that started out innocent enough, but would soon take a deadly twist.

My friend had a neighbour across the road.  Her neighbour was a sweet young woman with two little boys around the ages of 2 and 3.  My friend and I would go over several times a day to play with the boys and I am sure the mother was happy to see us arrive to help entertain the two energetic boys.  We both loved kids so it was as much fun for us as it was for them.  We loved the young mother as well.  She was a kind, gentle soul and she always seemed so genuinely happy to see us.  It was an easy relationship.

It was a blistering hot, sunny summer afternoon.  My friend and I had already come and gone several times.  The road we crossed was a busy one.  It is now a busy highway, but I am reflecting on what it was like in the 50’s.  Speed limits were higher then, and cars pushed their limits on this straight stretch of highway.  My friend and I were returning to her house and crossing the road was old hat.  My friend crossed first.  I looked both ways (I would swear on a stack of bibles today that I DID look both ways) and proceeded to cross.  

Pearl White Volkswagen Beetle circa 1962

There was a bright white flash and I felt my body go airborne.  I didn’t see it coming.  “IT” was a shiny white Volkswagen Beetle; driving no doubt as fast as the driver could push it.  In that split second when I was flying through the air, I registered the look on my friend’s face.  Her eyes were huge and her mouth was open in a silent ‘O’.  I felt my body land hard with a thud – I had completely cleared the top of the car and landed in the ditch in front of my friend’s house.  

I Choose…to Stay

The car stopped a few hundred feet away.  It wasn’t moving.  Neither was I…for a minute or two.  I slowly rolled and tried to make my feet.  There was sand and gravel on my rump and I had landed so hard the gravel had worked its way through the fibre of my clothes and the tiny pebbles were stuck to my skin.  Otherwise, not a scratch.  My friend slowly moved from the spot that she looked cemented to and was by my side.  She could hardly speak.  I was rattled…but was able to say that I was okay.  I stood up.  That’s when the car slowly backed up to where we were standing.

The driver was a woman.  I knew her.  She was very pale.  I told her I didn’t see her.  The sun was so bright…to this day I can swear that her car had blended with the bright sun and I just. didn’t. see. her.  She looked so relieved but was hard to convince that I was really okay.  I told her my name and made her promise not to call my parents until I had a chance to tell them myself.

That never happened.  You see, back in those days it was a treat to have sleepovers.  I knew if my parents found out about this, I would never be allowed to visit my friend again.  But how do you keep a secret like that?  My friend’s Mother was shaking with shock and disbelief when we told her what happened.  I made her swear never to tell my parents.  The deal was for me to be especially careful when crossing the road in the future.  She kept her end of the deal.  I did for years.  I was in college when the secret was exposed, quite by accident.  My Mother reassured me that I was completely correct; she would never have let me go back.  She forgave me though, probably because I survived, or because I chose to stay…when I was presented with my first ‘Exit Point’.

Over the decades, the Volkswagen Beetle held a mystique for me.  All my life I wanted to own a white one – it was the bane of my existence.  I kept Volkswagen Beetle (model) cars on my desk at my workplace and knew that someday I would indeed own one.

I do.  I drive a Volkswagen Beetle (fifty years later).   It is not white, but I am okay with that.  I swear if the car that hit me hadn’t been a small one…I...Lady Lorraine would not be here.

My Volkswagen Beetle