Acts of God

I’m not an overly religious person, but I do believe in God. Here’s an example of why I think God is out there, looking out for us and that we’re not just left to the fickle finger of Fate.

Last week, my childhood best friend Pam who changed gyms some months ago emails me to say: “Hey, did you know Gold’s gym (which is the gym I belong to) has been bought out by Key Largo?” (which is her gym). “I can go to yoga again! Yippee!” This was the silver lining in a spiral of depression since Mattycakes no longer worked there (nor Jack), and by extension, Mattycakes’ girlfriend and my new best friend, Sin—no longer frequented Gold’s. That Wednesday, Pam comes to yoga. It is awesome.

This week Pam comes again to yoga. Afterwards, Holly, Pam, and I leave at the same time, making exciting plans to see the midnight showing of Harry Potter in July. We head to our cars. As I go to get into mine, which is parked across from Holly’s—Holly wigs and says, “Shit, I locked my keys in my car.” She threatens to hari-kari herself in shame (I only wish I was exaggerating this part), as I try to reassure her. I then get the bright idea to flag down Pam. Why?

Hellion: A History. In January when Holly locked her keys in her car, we had a hell of a time figuring out how to unlock the car again. (Fortunately that time a custodial guy was quite dexterous with a piece of coat hanger. God intervenes again.) Back then, I had called my friend Chris (Pam’s husband) to do some hypothetical questioning. “Say I lock my keys in my car and I don’t want to call the police to come break my window—do you know how I could get a slim jim or anything?” And he says, “Tyson has a kit. You can’t really get slim jims anymore.” Bloody thieves ruined it for all of us.

Tyson, for the sake of character development here, is Chris’s childhood best friend, and like Chris, he is a chivalrous, kind man who doesn’t make you feel stupid for doing idiotic things like locking keys in your car. He also makes this sexy little purr-growl sound if you ask, but that doesn’t have a lot to do with this story. (And he’s happily married, so no one get their hopes up, okay?)

Okay, so Holly wigs. I say, “Hang on” and I start flying across the parking lot after Pam. This is difficult in flip flops. It’s been raining a little, though the rain (and this is important to note) had momentarily stopped. “Pam!” I’m shouting like a maniac as she doesn’t see me, pulling away and going down the parking lot. “Pam!” I look like one of those frilled dragon lizards, waving my hands in the air and running after. Very attractive. She still doesn’t see me. Shit. Suddenly there is a piercing whistle, one of those redneck ones that I seriously need to learn—and lo and behold—Pam stops in the parking lot. I nearly kissed the stranger who did this—bless his beautiful hide. “I love you,” I shout at him as I trot up to Pam’s car and explain the predicament. I get in the car, and Pam is trying to figure out how to go over there—as Holly wanders up to the car too, clearly disoriented and still depressed. Holly gets in the car. Pam drives us over to our cars and we check to make sure Holly’s keys are indeed locked in her car.

They are.

Pam calls Chris, and Chris gives her Tyson’s number. I take Holly’s scissors away so she’ll stop threatening to commit hari-kari. Pam calls Tyson, who says, “No problem, be there in a minute.” And Pam gets off the phone. We all look depressed, so Pam, master organizer, says, “Let’s go to Shakey’s and get some ice cream. It’ll take him a while to get here.” We go. We get the brilliant idea to get some ice cream for Tyson (since he is doing this out of the goodness of his heart.) We stand in a hellaciously long line. We marvel that there are only two workers at this joint, but there are about a half dozen people in our line, and about 10 cars in the drive thru. Nice. We finally place our orders (except Pam was skipped—and never got her ice cream, poor woman) and wait for them to be filled. I think we all aged about a decade waiting for the ice cream. As we’re waiting, Holly and I suddenly notice Pam has disappeared. I mean, she’s short, but she’s slightly harder to misplace than this.

This time we both kinda wig, though rationally we know—she’s probably headed back to the cars to be there when Tyson shows up. But why’d she go by herself? After a few minutes, Holly agrees to venture off to check and I’ll wait for the orders. We both figure she’ll be back long before any of us get our ice cream. She disappears through the parking lot, and whaddayaknow? Our ice cream is ready. I collect it and I stand for a minute or two, then think, “Well, I’ll just head back.”

Now as I’m going, I notice this white SUV that recently parked. I do recall Pam saying something about Tyson driving a white SUV. I *think*, “I bet that’s Ty.”—but I’m not going to check unless I’m pretty sure. I glance over and it looks like an arguing deaf couple in the front seat. Lots of animated gestures and discussion. I think, Nah, can’t be Ty and go to hike off. Suddenly I hear, “Hellion! Over here!” and I turn, and it’s the arguing deaf couple, only it’s really Tyson and Pam. I happily skip over to the SUV and hand Tyson his ice cream, which he is quite delighted with.

Holly comes back with her car. After about 10 minutes. We all talk for a time, and we laugh and carry on and it’s good. Then we part ways; Pam and I head back to our cars—stopping over in the gym again for a quick potty break, then we all go home. I no sooner get into my car and turn onto the road to leave, and it starts downpouring, like literal sheets of wrathful rain. It downpours the entire 45 minute drive home. I could have floated home in an ark.

And to think I could have been out in the parking lot, trying to unlock Holly’s door with a coat hanger, standing in a downpour. Because as of a week before, Pam didn’t belong to our gym—and wouldn’t have been with us at yoga—and if she hadn’t been with us, we couldn’t have called in our friend-of-a-friend card to have her call Tyson. And hell, if she wasn’t married to Chris, who knew Tyson—we would have had the police coming to break one of Holly’s windows. That’s not luck, my friends, or serendipity—that’s God looking out for you.