He waited patiently in the car, heat blasting, for me to take the pictures. When I slipped back inside, face flush from the cold, he asked what I was taking a picture of. Of course, he is used to me and he only smiled when I replied, “Skid marks.”
I have never been in a car that spun around. Well, except for once or twice during ice storms in our area. I was always afraid of bumper cars, too. Worried that I would be that kid stuck in the corner, turning the wheel and going nowhere. I was afraid of those mirror mazes, too. Worried I might never find my way out. And those big slides at the fair. The ones where you lie down on a burlap sack and slide so fast — I couldn’t try. Not jumping off the diving board or zip lining across a forest. Only recently have I begun to understand how growing up in a chaotic home made for a fearful adult unable to trust others to keep her safe. It might seem a pity, but I have compassion for myself. It is not too late.