Into the Void

Dad was playing softball for one of the local league teams. He was to play this day, which was warm and sunny, a perfect day for a ball game. There would be friends there to watch me during the game. Then we would have a picnic and later an ice cream cone. Mom wasn’t with us, probably home taking care of little baby Guy (or Gery as we called him then-don’t ask, something my Dad came up with; I didn’t even know his name was Guy until years later).

We were riding to the park in Dad’s shiny blue Hudson. I had been on my knees in the front seat with my hands on the dashboard so I could see out the windshield. The windows were open and the wind played with my golden locks. Dad slowed and made a left turn. He hadn’t slowed quite enough, though.

By this time I was looking out the passenger-side window with my hands on the door (there were no seat belts, baby seats, or restraints of any kind in cars back then). As we turned, the door swung open. I fell into the void. Instinctively, I hung onto the door at the window until he stopped the car. We were both pretty shaken, but the rest of the day was pleasant, and the incident forgotten for many years…except perhaps, in my deepest dreams.

To be Continued

–LE