Can’t Hurt Me_ Master Your Mind and Defy the Odds @betweencovers

started burning oil. Huge plumes of inky exhaust choked from the tail pipe and
my mother spun into panic mode. It was as if she’d been holding it all in,
stuffing her fear down deep, hiding it beneath a mask of forced composure, until
an obstacle emerged and she fell apart. Tears streaked her face.
“What do I do?” My mom asked, her eyes wide as saucers. My brother never
wanted to leave, and he told her to turn around. I was riding shotgun. She looked
over expectantly. “What do I do?”
“We gotta go, mom,” I said. “Mom, we gotta go.”
She pulled into a gas station in the middle of nowhere. Hysterical, she rushed to
a pay phone and called Betty.
“I can’t do this, Betty,” she said. “The car broke down. I have to go back!”
“Where are you?” Betty asked, calmly.
“I don’t know,” my mom replied. “I have no idea where I am!”
Betty told her to find a gas station attendant—every station had those back then
—and put him on the phone. He explained we were just outside of Erie,
Pennsylvania, and after Betty gave him some instructions, he put my mother
back on the line.
“Jackie, there’s a Volvo dealer in Erie. Find a hotel tonight and take the car there
tomorrow morning. The attendant is going to put enough oil in the car to get you
there.” My mother was listening but she didn’t respond. “Jackie? Are you
hearing me? Do what I say and it will be okay.”
“Yeah. Okay,” she whispered, emotionally spent. “Hotel. Volvo dealer. Got it.”
I don’t know what Erie is like now, but back then there was only one decent
hotel in town: a Holiday Inn, not far from the Volvo dealership. My brother and
I followed my mom to the reception desk where we were hit with more bad
news. They were fully booked. My mother’s shoulders slumped. My brother and
I stood on either side of her, holding our clothes in black trash bags. We were the
picture of desperation, and the night manager saw it.