My sisters and I survived twelve years of Catholic school escaping with nothing but an inability to end a sentence with a preposition and a strong feeling of guilt. My partner and my brother-in-law, New England Puritans, had even less exposure to organized religion than we did.
Although I’m not necessarily in daily communion with the Almighty, I will always remember Sister Aloysius, my 11th grade religion teacher who regarded all her students, but especially the boys, as godless heathens. “Go ahead and scoff,” she would say if someone would dare to doubt the veracity of one her more unlikely Bible stories, “But there are no atheists in a foxhole.” This did not make a lot of sense and at the time I thought she was just being dramatic but it turns out she knew what she was talking about and a recent, blessedly short road trip with my tightly wound family of godless heathens proved Sister’s point.
We had been invited to the boat parade party and my two sisters, my middle sister’s husband, Judson, my partner and I all decided to go together in my car because parking was going to be a nightmare. The party was slightly more than a mile from my house: the route consisted of three stop lights, 2 stop signs and one drawbridge.
Things got off to a bad start when my middle sister, in the middle of the back seat, could not figure out how to work her seatbelt. My partner and I, up front, exchanged a glance, but as it turned out my older sister and Judson could not figure out their seatbelts either. “’Insert the metal edge into the buckle,’” I said in my best Flight Attendant voice, but they ignored me.
Ten minutes later they were still fiddling with their seat belts and I was getting antsy. “Once they put the drawbridge up we’re screwed,” I said. They ignored me again. “Listen, “ I said. “We’re not going far and I won’t go fast.”
“That’s when accidents are likely to happen,” said Judson primly and, annoyed, I put the car in reverse.
“Dear God!” said my middle sister as Judson gasped.
“Jesus!” said my older sister. “Slow down!”
I scowled. “I’m still in the driveway,” I pointed out.
“Most accidents happen within one mile of the house,” said Judson. I momentarily considered telling him to get out and walk but I clenched my teeth and gently inched forward.
The first stop sign was a good 100 yards away. When I was fifty yards away Judson said. “Stop!!”
At thirty yards my older sister said, “Slow down for God’s sake.”
“Good Lord, he’s going to kill us all,” said my middle sister.
Goaded, I stopped harder than I needed to just to spite my backseat drivers, who by now were bracing themselves with both arms on the front seat. “Sweet Jesus help us!” said my middle sister.
As we inched slowly down Oakland Park Boulevard my older sister gasped. “Oh my god! There’s a kid on a bike!” she said. The “kid” in question was easily 45; he was going in the opposite direction and was separated from us by 6 lanes and a landscaped median strip. I did not respond, but I heard Judson whisper, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph: he never even saw him,” and my middle sister said clearly, “I hope our Guardian Angels are nearby.”
It began to drizzle after we turned onto A1A. “Dear Lord, what else can go wrong?” said my middle sister. That was before she saw that the cops had closed some traffic lanes; now the heavy boat parade traffic had to merge. As the SUV next to us and I tried to get into the same lane my older sister said, “Oh my God!” My middle sister braced for impact and Judson closed his eyes tight: “’Jesus take the wheel!’” he said.
Just then my faithless partner crossed himself.
“You’re not even Catholic,” I told him, as we inched forward, unscathed.
“Right now I am,” he said.