Cameron

Tuesday morning I had an 8:30 morning meeting in Austin. I just couldn’t get the energy to go the day before so at 4:00am I was up, dressed, fed and walked the pug and hit the road by 5:30. As the miles rolled on I tuned in to NPR, but in reality my mind was busy getting my life in order. I think that’s why I don’t mind driving long distances; I have a tendency to use the time to think things through.

Somewhere outside of Houston I suddenly had a thought, how old are my tires? Mile after mile for some reason I seemed obsessed with determining the age of my tires, their condition and what would I do if I had a flat. With no problem I arrived in time for my meeting. I went to lunch with friends of mine and as we returned to the office suddenly there was a loud explosion. We all clutched our hearts and tried to steady our breathing and realized a passing 18-wheeler blew a tire. I laughed and thought I discovered the reason for my morning premonition.

By 2:45 that afternoon I was back on the road heading home. Still preoccupied with a ton of issues, I managed to miss the split to Highway 71 at the Austin airport. Sure I could have continued south on 183, but I opted to turn around and backtrack. I stopped to fill up my car and decided to gather my last dollar and change and get a Dairy Queen pecan cluster Blizzard and a Diet Coke. It was a long trip home, after all.

My left rear tire blew on an elevated portion of I-10 next to the Katy Mills Mall. The traffic was speeding along at 80 mph at the time and I was in the passing lane with a concrete wall inches from my left. I hit my hazards and somehow managed to weave through the intensely heavy traffic and reached the right shoulder. I parked with my right door a mere inches from the concrete wall on the shoulder, yet still was only able to open my door mere inches for fear the speeding traffic would carry me away. My tire was well and truly gone; most of the rim was visible. I was in a construction zone and debris seemed to be flying everywhere. I knew that waiting there for a tow was life threatening. I called a friend and he advised my rim was probably already shot, might as well try and drive out of this mess. So I waited for the break and inched into the traffic. I drove a mile up and exited onto a 3 lane frontage road that was a virtual speedway with no shoulders. Up the way I found a cement driveway leading into a field so I pulled over, finally somewhat safe. I looked around and noted there was no gas station in sight. Indeed, there was very little business. I had my sister on the phone and she was searching the Katy yellow pages for a wrecker when I finally decided, what the hell, why can’t I change a tire?

When I was a teenager my older sister and I had a flat tire in town. My dad came to get us and made us change the tire on the premise we should never be stuck, unable to help ourselves. So here I am able-bodied and intelligent and I may add, broke, why don’t I save myself the tow charges and change the tire myself? I pull the spare out of the truck and get the tire iron out. Thankfully I’m in my required black from head to tow, cropped pants, Ralph Lauren sleeveless sweater and black sandals with clunky black plastic soles which thankfully work well for standing on the tire iron to loosen the lug nuts on the tire. I am positioning the jack when I note a truck has parked some 20 yards up and a young man dressed in faded jeans, tight t-shirt, Astros cap and sunglasses is walking towards me. And I must add, he is deliciously cute. I may be able-bodied, but I’m also intelligent. I drop the handle of the jack and step away from the car as though it’s on fire. He takes over the job. I watch his tanned, muscled arms as he tightens the bolts and wish I was 20 years younger. I also realize I don’t have any cash on me. When he’s done I ask his name and he smiles, “Cameron.”

I’ve always loved that name and even suggested it when my siblings were expecting a child. They all hated it as the Cajuns would pronounce it with a hard and harsh emphasis on “Cam.”

I tell Cameron that I don’t have any cash, but if he’d give me an address…he interrupts, “No m’am, I just wanted to help you out.” I promise that I will always remember him and his great kindness. I watch him as he walked back to his truck, sighed and merged back on I-10.

Every day on the news we hear countless stories of violence and crime. We rarely hear about the countless acts of kindness that occur all day long. When I got home I opted not to watch the late news. I’d rather think of Cameron instead. Thank you kind sir!