My Favorite Christmas Story

It started the night before. I received a voice mail from Moriah who wanted to go last-minute Christmas shopping. I still had a few loose ends on my "To-Get" list, so I readily agreed.
She picked me up at noon on Wednesday, the 22nd in her green Toyota, front-wheel drive, informing me that she first needed to get her check from my Uncle, whom she and I worked for in the Great Annual Spud Harvest. They had sent the check to her right after the harvest was over, but for some reason or other, it didn't reach her.
Not knowing the way to my Uncle's house, she asked, "Is it here?"
"Nah," I replied, "Keep going. Ok, here. Turn here. Or not. Just keep going to the Powell's (other Powell's) they have a round-about. Wait, not here. Don't pull in here! Oh, ok, pull in here, I guess. I'd stop now. And now we're stuck."
The house whose driveway she'd chosen for a three-point turn was a rental and totally unoccupied at the moment. This meant the driveway hadn't been cleared all winter. And we were stuck in the middle.
Without hesitation, I hopped out of the passenger seat and pushing from the front, managed to get the green little car (that didn't have snow tires, I might add, but "all-season tires," according to Moriah) dislodged the first time and hopped back into shotgun. Moriah tried some fancy maneuvers to swivel around and get us back onto the highway, but only succeeded in re-lodging her car perpendicular to and part way off the snow-covered pavement.
Again, and just as quickly as the first time, I'm out of the car and pushing from the front, Moriah gunning it in reverse. This time we only succeeded in creating a nice, icy well for each front tire.

The day previous, my sister had been in a similar predicament when she was pulling out of our driveway and turned too quickly over the snowbank and was caught in the middle. We and one other sister couldn't get the thing out until two gentlemen whom I've never seen in my life and who I don't expect to see again, showed up from the highway and were able to dislodge the car by putting it into neutral and "rocking" it back and forth until we got enough momentum to heave the car over the bank.

Applying similar tactics, I instruct Moriah to put the car into neutral and we commence heaving the thing forward and back. We continued this exercise for at least half an hour, kicking our ill-clad feet into the frozen slush to give us more tract, without triumph: every time we came close to freedom, the car would peek at the edge of the ditches that harbored the wheels, only to slip back in. I then had a thought. While Moriah tried to call her Dad and other friends of the masculine persuasion, I ran to the nearby willow tree, whose limbs were until then a cursing, having dripped recent rainwater and causing slushy, half-frozen snow over the past several weeks and the partly the cause of our situation, that was now a blessing. Breaking off the winter-hardened volunteer shoots, I then wedged the snapped limbs behind the front tires. After an age of relentless rocking to and fro, Moriah and I finally succeeded in freeing the car from its captor.
At last, the car was swiveled around and pointing toward the highway. We were feeling pretty proud of our less-than car savvy, unprepared-for-emergency-situations, non-masculine, impractically-shoed selves. "not too bad for two girls," Moriah said.
Making sure the coast was clear, we tried to escape the dreadful driveway in one grandiose finale. But alas, we instead heard the now familiar sound of tires spinning. With a groan and a roll of the eyes, we once again climbed out and assessed our situation.
It was then that two gentlemen, whom neither of us recognized, pulled near us on the highway. One was white-haired and fairly robust. The other I guessed to be in his teens and either the son or grandson of the former and equally thickly built. We briefly explained the situation to them, with embarrassed laughter after every sentence. I remember the elder calling to the younger, instructing him on where to push the car, calling him by name, but I can't remember it. Their strategy was one neither Moriah and I considered. They pushed the car backwards, farther into the evil abandoned driveway--which made me more than nervous--with the plan to get more momentum with which to clear the final snowbank. This time, with the older man driving and three of us pushing, he cleared the driveway in one fell swoop and parked it on the opposite side of the road.

A few moments later, Moriah with check in hand and I with fresh money from the Credit Union, we went to Wells Fargo's (Moriah's bank's) drive-through. The process itself was bad enough. This was the first time Moriah had done this without her mother and I was no help, having never deposited a check via window either. Fumbling with nerves, she made a several mistakes on the deposit and the capsule had to be sent back a few times. Embarrassed at the end of it all, Moriah tells me, "I just want to get out of here. At least they'll never see me again." She turns the key to start the engine and make our getaway.

It doesn't start.

After several more tries, the result is the same: her car won't start. Without thinking, I'm out of the car--again--telling her to stick it in neutral. We have the car rolled out of the way of other bank clients, but Moriah's wheels weren't wanting to turn (she comments that her breaks were also feeling weird, like they were sticking), and we wheeled it right into a curb. Just as I am asking myself what we could possibly do, a man in a Taylor's suburban and another, heavier man in a small Sudan arrive simultaneously. The Taylor's man says to us in only a slightly condescending tone, something along the lines of: "So you've pushed it to the middle of the street. What were you planning on next?" Exhausted, we quickly explain that her car won't start. They pop the hood, speculating about a drained battery, incorrect wiring, problematic router, but all are puzzled: when the key's turned, the ignition won't even make the characteristic clicking, chugging noise.
Luckily, Moriah's dad had just recently bought her a tow cable and the Taylor suburban man, who told us we was a mechanic for Taylor Chevrolet, with help from the heavy Sudan driver, towed us to a parking space.
As for starting the car, all signs pointed to the battery: dim headlights, radio giving out, and (for anyone who's a car person and knows the history and makeup of Toyota's) the breaks acting funny. However, all three cars were lacking jumper cables and still perplexed, the two drivers left to whatever pressing matters they had.

Fishing for ideas, I suggest we at least push the car into the space ahead and at least out of others' way. Moriah pushed while I steered with great difficulty. We were going very slowly at first, poor Moriah probably being exhausted from the day's previous events. Suddenly, I notice that we were moving with much more ease, I look behind me to give Moriah friendly encouragement and see another anonymous man pushing beside her. He looked to be in his twenties--probably a college student--with scruffy facial hair, wearing a faded yellow hoodie underneath a light jacket. Later Moriah told me that while she was pushing, he just showed up from nowhere and started pushing without a word, only nodding when she thanked him. As soon as we were safely in the parking space, he left as quickly as he'd come.
My mother did show up, but she was just as perplexed as we were as to the problem. Her car did have cables, but she was unwilling to attempt it, afraid that she might make the problem worse. She left to an urgent errand, promising to come back soon.

Tired and a little put out from the days' events so far, Moriah calls her father and later her roadside assistance, Tri-State Mechanical. Turns out, all the car needed was a jump.

Later, we found ourselves sitting in the garage's lobby, waiting for that darn Toyota's battery to charge. We were half laughing about it (me), and half shaken and tired (Moriah).
We were discussing the bizarreness of our shopping trip so far--and updating a few guy friends about the current status of our adventure via text, we being two teenagers--when an older, severely wrinkly man walks up to us. Neither of us could understand most of what he said. All I could gather was that he was wondering what our car was in for. I think he was trying to tell us what was wrong with his car. We gathered he was trying to crack jokes, so we laughed politely in pauses, since we had no idea what he was saying. He was probably harmless, but Moriah and I agreed that it would have been extremely creepy if either one of us had been alone.

This story does end happy: The stupid car's battery did charge, we went to Moriah's Piano lesson, both of us completed our shopping, and feeling like we'd earned it, Moriah treated us to dinner at Sammy's Sweets and a Cocoa Bean hot chocolate for desert. I told her that we would look back every Christmas for years to come, no matter how far away we live form each other, and remember this Christmas shopping trip. I told Moriah, my increasingly best-est buddy, that this would always be my favorite Christmas story.

Throughout that day and the one previous, I personally have been helped by seven complete strangers. Part of me was grateful I lived in Rexburg, although one friend suggested we "wouldn't have gotten as much attention in January." But upon Reflection, I remembering several times, while either rocking that blasted Toyota back and forth or wondering was to do when the car wouldn't start, I remember praying that we would find a way, that things would work. All I can say is that I'm grateful that the Lord works through others and that prayers are answered and that I've been raised that I can call on that Power when needed. Truly, this will be one of my most memorable Christmases.