“’Twas After Thanksgiving”
‘Twas after Thanksgiving, I’m sad to inform,
When precious sweet Katie would flee to her dorm.
We’d purchased her flight on the great friendly skies,
But timing would force her quite early to rise.
With Jessica sleeping and Scott doing work,
This trip to the airport I just couldn’t shirk.
Her flight would leave Springfield at fifteen past six;
5:30 at gateside or they’d snatch her tix.
Before then, she’d check in, and give them her bags,
Then down to security where the line lags.
In fifty-three minutes we’d drive the whole way;
4:30 we’d leave (A.M!), starting our day.
Now, 4:25 would have made me more pleased,
But Katie’s a night owl, and that morning she’d
Not appeared till 4:40! Oh, what would we do?
To make matters worse, Scott then gave me some news.
He’d just looked online and it seemed that her flight
Would leave at six A.M. Wow! This would be tight.
I spun out some gravel as we headed out,
And then queried Katie and asked her about
What she thought I should do. Should I drive sixty-five?
Would she miss her connection? Her grades take a dive?
Or should I try speeding and race to the goal,
Breaking the law, maybe risking a toll?
And laying a finger aside of her nose,
She skipped not a beat as she gave me her prose:
“Speed on, oh, my mother, and if you get stopped,
I’ll take all the blame as we talk with the cop.”
(I wondered about this. Sure, she’d pay the fine,
But long-tarnished records? They all would be mine!)
So on did I speed reaching heights then unknown
By the van. The speedometer never had shown
Such numbers as eighty or ninety or more,
And I topped ninety-five as we rattled and roared
Past county line, Saddlebrooke, Highlandville too.
(I did drop to ninety as Ozark came through.)
In darkness we passed other cars standing still.
I only eased off as we topped each grand hill.
Then spying a valley with no blue lights flashing,
I’d force the van onward. Such speeds we were dashing!
I raced on through Springfield at just shy of eighty,
But later slowed down just a bit, while my Katie
Was sleeping or so I assumed in the back,
But later she told me that wasn’t a fact.
She’d just closed her eyes so she’d not be aware
Of the speed we were traveling or see the glare
Of a trooper’s blue lights flashing in her worst dream.
(He’d be stopping her mom with a sinister gleam.)
My knuckles were white as I gripped the cold wheel.
My heart was a-pounding; my pulse I could feel.
My hands they were clammy, my breath short and hard.
My knees they were knocking; my senses on guard.
I screeched to the drop-off at sixteen past five.
We both were quite thankful to still be alive.
I pitched out her bags on the sidewalk and went
To park out in short term, then pray and repent.
A fifty-three drive done in just thirty-seven.
Our God had had mercy. We’d still get to heaven.
I strode to the terminal, finding my girl
Who was just checking in, and this charge I did hurl:
“There’ll be not a stop for the potty until
inside of the plane your own seat have you filled!”
At 5:25, she got into the line
To take off her shoes, pack her bin, read the sign
That said to walk through, then collect all your stuff.
Which she did, then she turned, (how I love her – so much!).
Then she waved and she signed, “I love you,” as she ran
Up the stairs to her gate with her laptop in hand.
I sauntered outside to the van and I drove
To the parking attendant, but he only wove
Me on through without paying as I’d only been
In the lot twenty minutes. I thanked him and then,
While drove on down Kearney at 5:38,
My phone rang and who would it be but my Kate.
She said that she’d made it; she sat on the plane.
She thanked me for speeding and still staying sane.
We didn’t discuss then the ends or the means,
But later I told her that never the scenes
Of those building and vehicles, light posts and trees
Would fly past my windshield at harrowing speeds.
I told her that next time (be there such an action)
She’d just miss her flight and Chicago connection.
We both learned our lessons of marginless life.
But she made it to class, and she had a good flight.
