A Wrinkle in Time

There's a crack in my windshield that reminds me of my last perfect weekend.  I didn't even realize something had hit my windshield with enough force to damage it as I drove the back roads of South Carolina, headed to Savannah to visit my childhood best friend.  I hadn't seen her in a couple of years and we had planned this visit during her business trip from Texas for months.  It was Friday, the 13th.

We found it strange that the Irish Pub we chose for dinner closed at 10 PM even though the hours etched into the door stated 1 AM.  Chairs were placed atop tables and the staff began to sweep the floors, effectively driving patrons outside into the warm evening air.  

The next morning, all of the parking garages in downtown Savannah were closed with "Full" signs lit up in orange neon letters, even though we could clearly see empty spaces.  I was grateful to have a small car as I quickly turned in the middle of the street to snatch a spot on the opposite side.  It was a busy Spring day and I had forgotten that it was Saint Patrick's Day weekend as I saw shades of green and glitter on tourists wandering the streets.  I ducked into a bar for a plastic cup of tepid green beer.

The sun was warm and salty air filled my senses as we drove to Tybee Island with the top of my convertible down.  I noticed the small crack on the windshield for the first time.  It was the size of my pinky finger.  Construction signs announced that the parade was cancelled.  We drove down the main street of Tybee looking for suitable beach parking.  It was lined with chairs and people securing their spot.  The parade may have been officially cancelled but it still carried on without a permit.  Savannah never did like being told what to do.  

I pulled my beach bag from the trunk and we found a space to form a small red and white striped island.  The battery operated radio picked up a local station and we basked in the sun for a couple of hours.  College students on spring break played football and clustered nearby as sea gulls cried their haunting calls as they floated on the wind above the ocean.

The parade was in full swing when we left so I found a side street to avoid the festivities as we headed back to the hotel.  The crack was getting longer but had yet to reach the center of the glass.  I left on Sunday, heading home via a combination of interstate and familiar Georgia country roads.  I stopped for gas in Milledgeville and noticed for the first time the anxious looks, gloved hands and abundance of hand sanitizer from other customers at the pumps. I had been carrying my own for a few weeks but realized I was no longer alone in my mission of germ avoidance.

It's almost April and the crack is much longer and has strayed slightly from its original course.  I will need a new windshield but I haven't placed the call to my insurance company yet.  I'm a bit sentimental about it as it is still a reminder each day of my last normal weekend.