Take the Wheel WC: 298

Take the Wheel
WC 298

Our father passed away yesterday in Minnesota.

My older brother, Avery, and I decided to drive together to Bemidji from Taos, New Mexico, where we both live. He and I have been estranged for years, so this might not have been the best idea.

Avery had been driving for about an hour when he said, “It's your turn to take the wheel.”

“I'm not Jesus,” I said, trying to lighten things about a bit.

“What does that mean, Paul?”

"It's a saying. Jesus, take the wheel. It’s a song, too."

“Never heard of it,” he snapped.

“It’s a request for divine intervention.”

“I just need you to drive, Paul, not get all holy-roller on me.”

I bit my tongue.

He pulled over, and we switched seats.

After about ten minutes of silence, he said, “How much do you think he left us?”

Our father would salt away money every chance he got, so it should be quite a bit. Plus, the house and his caddy should be worth a goodly amount. I felt it was not the time to discuss such things, so I stayed silent.

“Does it bug you, baby brother, that I'm so crass?”

Well, it did, but I was not about to make matters worse.

Then out of nowhere, there were brake lights right in front of us. An 18-wheeler had come to a dead stop.

Our car spun out when I slammed on the brakes and braced for impact. Avery yelled something. When it was all over, our car was sideways, inches away from disaster.

Once we were back on the road, he said, “Oh my God, we should have been killed.”

“I know, but Jesus took the wheel.”

Neither of us said much the rest of the way to Bemidji.