Lucian and Mary Brown:
Untitled [boy playing with truck in sandbox] (c. 1950)

" … the continuing possibility of these strange convergences and Grace."

I'll start this story by declaring that I do not believe in The Prosperity Gospel or the often-touted Laws of Attraction. I believe this theory and practice amount to a cruel joke, a fraud perpetrated on innocent people who probably deserve better. That this fraud is often self-inflicted is no defense and might render it even more offensive. There are plenty who encourage such beliefs.

I admit to sometimes seeing evidence that, if I was unconvinced, might convince me that The Prosperity Gospel and The Laws of Attraction could be real. They don't. Being of a more practical mind, I accept the mystery for whatever it is, inexplicable, and proceed from there. Everybody occasionally encounters strange attractions, where something desired or merely imagined suddenly manifests as if brought forth by those thoughts. It does not follow that because it appeared you did anything to make it so. It was more likely a strange convergence rather than a strange attraction, for no force that any scientist ever measured exists capable of attracting things. When you can manifest shit on a schedule, we might find interest. Otherwise, strange shit does sometimes occur.

I've wanted a pickup truck for the better part of twenty years, ever since The Muse and I first moved here. In a small city, a PickEmUp has a thousand uses. When I lived in the BIG city, it would have offered little utility. PickEmUps are notoriously wasteful of fuel. They usually achieve a high mid-teens gas mileage, less than half the typical passenger car. They hold fewer people, so their mileage per person traveling is even worse than their straight-up mileage. But here, I need to haul stuff. I need a load of compost or bark dust for my gardens. I need to haul prunings to the municipal composting facility. The Muse is forever finding some estate sale treasure that won't quite fit in The Schooner. We bought an old Lexus four years ago, thinking The GrandOtter, who was living with us then, might use it. It became our default PickEmUp Truck. It had ample carrying capacity, but spreading tarps inside a leather-seated luxury vehicle seemed absurd. So, I've been seeking deliverance.

As these things go, I settled on a Ford Ranger, a smaller truck. The Muse suggested an early oughts model, twenty or so years old. She's been watching on Facebook Marketplace, and a surprising number of them have appeared since I started searching. This, again, in no way means the Laws of Attraction are working. It has to do with the volume of twenty-year-old Rangers reaching the end of their first owner's patience. One was inherited from a grandpa. Another had been a hobby for a truck restorer. Most had plenty of dents and dings, and I wouldn't have accepted one that lacked them. I wanted a beater of a beast, one I could park on the street without fear that anybody might molest her. Still, each promising lead evaporated before I could cut a deal.

When my friend Gary died earlier this month, I didn't think about his truck. I knew he drove one, but I'd never sat foot in it. I'd seen it parked in the driveway when I visited, but he owned a 2002 Ford Ranger, white with a shell over the bed. Four wheel drive automatic, never been smoked inside. It features a pleasing sound system and a hyperactive air conditioner. Oh, he'd had the engine replaced four years ago with a brand-new model. So, those one hundred forty-eight thousand miles on the odometer don't mention that the new engine might have thirty thousand, if that. Gary only ever drove that thing to work and back and occasionally over to The Rochester for beer. The engine had been installed by the master truck mechanic at the trucking company Gary used to drive for. Further, it only had one previous owner, a guy I've known since Junior High or longer, a responsible guy. Gary had religiously changed the oil every three months regardless of how little he'd driven.

His widow Suzie showed it to me, explaining all the details. She told me to punch up the sound system, and there was Gary singing one of his tunes. She said the CD came with the truck. Today, we'll agree on a price, and I'll take possession of a real live PickEmUp Truck. I sense a fresh chapter coming into focus. I promise not to change completely, but I doubt such a shift wouldn't affect something, perhaps more than just a little bit. I will suddenly feel free to transport that long-delayed load of sawdust for the rose garden and maybe even clean out the garage. I think it strange that after such a long and convoluted search, I found the object of my continuing obsession in the possession of my extended family. I told Suzie I would keep Gary's truck in the family, and she wiped a few tears from her cheeks. I still do not believe in the Prosperity Gospel or The Laws of Attraction, just in the continuing possibility of these strange convergences and Grace.

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Grace, #PureSchmaltz