But I have Promises to Keep

Eventually, I need to pry myself away from Scott, the pups and the warmth of the fire to start my drive home. I get my kiddos back tonight.

But it would be so much nicer if I could stay in my jammies, pups piled on my legs and feet, watching movies by the fire with my head on Scott’s chest while his girls baked chocolate chip cookies and built snow forts out in the yard.

But I am dying to see the kiddos.

Later than I should have, I hoist myself from the sofa, dogs and Scott, repack my bag of tricks, zshzsh myself a bit so that at least what hovered above the steering wheel would resemble a human head, grab a bottle of water and an apple and begin my goodbyes.

Scott is in a panic. It is really snowing. It has snowed nearly a foot. I have to literally march to my car – in really impractical shoes, no less. (Fashion comes at a cost. Sometimes it takes the form of toes lost to frostbite.)

I am not daunted by the storm. At least not at that moment.

I drive what could be described as a tank; a huge, behemoth, manual transmission, military-style, 6 speed war vehicle with 4WD, Low gear 4WD, and off-roading features. (because there are so many off-roading opportunities in the suburban north east of the US).

But I have lived and driven my whole life in this region where Old Man Winter loves a good joke. This is a walk in the park. A day at the beach. Taking candy from a baby.

Scott is a wreck. Kicking himself for not being the voice of reason and insisting that I stay where I was last night.

I’m sorry, love. That ship has clearly sailed. I need to begin the journey home. A journey of a thousand miles begins with the turning of the engine key, so please stand aside and allow me to rev my engine.

Actually, Scott had started it 10 minutes ago. It is already purring and the interior is toasty warm. So nice. Lars would have left me to brave the elements entirely on my own as a little lesson to me about my many foolish notions.

I tell Scott that I swear, and would swear on a stack of Bibles if I had one handy, that if I set out and find that it is too harsh or too dangerous, I will turn immediately around and come back to his house, and tell Lars I have been traveling and can not get home because of the weather. (Truth be told, I would rather boil off an appendage in a Fry Baby before placing that phone call, but a girl has to say what a girl has to say.)

A final kiss goodbye and I put the Sherman tank in reverse, crunching out of the driveway in the new fallen snow. With zero visibility and a full tank of gas.

My first fishtail is 6 houses away at the end of Scott’s street, and thankfully, well out of view from where he is surely still watching at the end of his driveway.