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 Driven to Distraction
By Jim Shahin
THE GREAT THING about taking my wife to the airport is that we get an opportunity to have one last argument before she leaves town.
It’s raining. The windshield wipers slap back and forth.
“I don’t know why you’re upset,” I say. “I thought you’d consider this a favor.”
“It just makes me rethink everything.”
I glance over at her.
“Everything?” I ask cautiously. “What is everything?”
“I like the time to myself,” she says. “It gives me a chance to transition, to think about the trip, what I need to do.”
Good. She didn’t mean everything everything. For a second there, I thought I might have to seek a note of sympathetic accord.
“So, you’re saying you would rather drive around in the rain, search for a parking spot, and take the shuttle from the long-term lot than have a nice ride with your loving husband who will drop you off right in front of the terminal?”
“I’m saying I would rather have some time to myself.”
“Time to yourself? When you can be having this lovely conversation instead?”
She doesn’t laugh.
She looks out her window as if somewhere in the rain exists someone who would understand. As if maybe she missed her opportunity for “everything” to mean everything.
Okay. So maybe I wasn’t doing her such a favor. Maybe she could have done without the barbed humor on the way to the airport. And the arguing. And the tension.
“Well, why didn’t you just say you didn’t want me to drive you?”
I’ve got her. If she didn’t want a ride, she didn’t have to have a ride.
“I did,” she responds, turning to look squarely at me.
I look straight ahead, as if the rain requires my complete attention.
“You did?”
“Yes,” she says. “I did.”
“When?”
“When? All morning, that’s when.”
“You could have just told me no,” I say, sounding meek, like a little boy who knows he made a mistake but can’t own up to it.
“At a certain point, it just doesn’t seem worth it,” she says. “Besides, I thought you really wanted to. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
Wanted to? Why would I want to? It’s raining. The drive is a hassle, it’s time-consuming, and I have a column not just due but overdue.
Oh.
Yeah.
The column.
She’s right. I did want to. I’ll use any excuse to avoid finishing a column. I’ve even washed the tub. So what is a senseless hour-and-a-half drive through a torrential downpour?
Still, that’s not the point. The point is that she’s getting a nice ride to the airport. Why wouldn’t she want that?
Actually, I know why, because we’ve talked about the different preferences that people have for leaving on a trip. Some folks want to get their heads into the approaching travel day and avoid the hurried farewell in the car, so they prefer to relax in a taxi. Others want someone to take them to the airport. Still others want someone to go in and wait with them until the last possible minute.
A friend of mine adds a complicating factor. He says that a husband must take his wife, despite her protests, if there is any conceivable way for him to do so, and especially in inclement weather, or he risks hearing about it during a wholly unrelated argument years later. My pal may be right. But this isn’t years later. I’ve got to make amends now or risk putting another notch in the everything belt.
“You’re right,” I say as we pull up to the curb. “If you wanted to drive, I should have let you drive here.”
“It’s okay,” she says.
Months later, I’m still feeling bad about bullying her, and we’re having dinner with friends, relating the story, when Jessica announces she has a confession.
“There’s something I didn’t tell you,” Jessica says, looking guilty.
“What?” I say, joking. “You were meeting your boyfriend?”
She’s silent.
I’m nervous.
“I went to the wrong airport,” she says, finally.
“You what?”
“My flight left from National,” she says.
We had gone to Dulles.
“They changed my flight so I could leave from Dulles,” she continues. “If I had driven, I might have tried to make it to National, and there is no way I would have. Or I would have flown from Dulles but returned into National — and the car would have been at Dulles.”
“So,” I declare. “You’re saying that it’s a good thing I drove you to the airport.”
She doesn’t reply right away.
“Take your time,” I say. “Gives me a chance to rethink everything.”
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