It was Friday, the beginning of Spring Break. My brain felt like someone had smushed it in a blender and hit “liquify.” My brow furrowed in utter confusion, as my heart beat faster than a banshee kills a llama. I was hopelessly lost in downtown Wichita. I was headed north on Douglas (or so I thought), scanning the traffic signs for “Rock Road” but hit no bingo. Starting again after a red light, I turned my head left just as my car got swallowed whole by the Loch Ness monster of all dips. It bit hard. But I drove on, frantic to meet my uncle and aunt at his house before we were scheduled to go to a concert that evening. I grabbed my cell, and slowly my uncle got me back on track. I ended the night crashing at their house after the concert.
I got up early to head back to El Do to pack up and drive home. I’d been packing up in my dorm room for about ten minutes when my uncle called and told me I had left a giant pool of oil on his driveway. Alarmed, I ran out to see Chloe (my car’s name) crying for oil, fast. So after a lot of phone calls I lugged my stuff into Chloe and headed to the Walmart Lube. They told me I had cracked my oil pan- badly. As advised from my dad, I bought LOTS of oil and filled her up. “Caitlin, you’ll just have to stop every 30 minutes to check your oil.” So I drove on highway 196 approaching Whitewater. Worries swirled around my head like a hurricane simulator. So I decided to pull into the first turn in Whitewater. It was this spacious gravel driveway. I hopped out, grabbed a rag and checked my dip stick. It read “Half Way!” Only 30 minutes down the road and it was half way! I knelt down to see a huge puddle of oil that was spurting out of Chloe. I thought, “This is not going to work.” I turned around to see a car garage that read, “Bell’s Auto Service.” The Lord had spoken. A pleasant looking lady stood inside, I asked her for help. She had me pull my car over and the mechanics jacked it up to drain the oil. They stuffed this black silicone into the crack to “just slow the leak down.” They warned me I’d still have to stop and fill Chloe up with oil. As I prepared to leave, I asked them what I owed them, “The black silicone ain’t expensive. You don’t owe us anything.” As I drove home five hours, I stopped every little bit to check the dip stick. That little patch job didn’t leak once. Tell me that isn’t just chance… I think it proves even though crap happens, there’s someone higher than me making sure it all works out okay. And that was only the beginning of my spring break. Let me tell ya, I was stinkin’ ready for a holiday.