I'll Ask You Three Times, Are You OK?: Tales of Driving and Being Driven

by Naomi Shihab Nye

It is really hard to be lonely very long in a world of words. Even if you don’t have friends somewhere, you still have language, and it will find you and wrap its little syllables around you and suddenly there will be a story to live in.

Grandma Marie was a soft gray flannel mouse clutching a pocketbook, poking her fluffy head out of her apartment hole. I could feel her shyness rubbing off on me. Sometimes she asked me to make an inquiry. “Go see what that big doll costs.” She’d stand on the sidewalk while I ran inside to find a saleslady.

My father drove the blue Buick with three holes like nostrils in the side of the hood.

Suddenly I felt the awful scratch-and-sizzle-in-the-throat that foretold a coming cold.

We were not destined to be friends for long, that was certain. We were not on the same highway, brother. We were not on the same map.

How strange to believe in peace on a world level and not be able to get along with members of your own family.

I was a James Taylor fanatic. James and I shared the same birthday, along with Jack Kerouac, coincidences which made me feel upbeat about my own existence.

VERY OLD WOMAN I’D NEVER SEEN BEFORE was sitting in the backseat of my car when I came out of the pharmacy. I had only been away from the vehicle a few moments, but had forgotten to lock it. I opened the door and stared at her. “May I help you?” I said. So far having a driver’s license had been more of a problem than a pleasure.

Did you read where the president said every war looks good on paper?” I say, “Not only did I read it, I went crazy when I read it. I wrote about it at length in my notebook.” He says, “Sir, a war never looks good. Not on paper, not on toilet paper, especially not on bandages soaked in blood. It does not look good at all. Even the churchy people regret voting for war now.”

The person you have known a long time is embedded in you like a jewel. The person you have just met casts out a few glistening beams and you are fascinated to see more of them. How many more are there? With someone you’ve barely met the curiosity is intoxicating.

“Hey. Hey, I just saw a church marquee you won’t believe. Here it is: WHAT IF JESUS SAID, I DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE, YOU DON’T MAKE ME HAPPY, I’VE FOUND SOMEONE ELSE.”

They say, “It’s a very nice hotel,” but it won’t be, at all. It will be truly mediocre—stinky elevators, saggy mattresses, a restaurant smelling of Clorox, and the same bad news of the world on the television screen.