Myrna is Lost

Myrna is Lost

I met Myrna this morning.

She's a 78 year-old young lady who is struggling with the basics of living. 

I had our Honda Civic at our local auto spa to have a fluid change and was happily shooting the breeze with my old mechanic friend.  Pete used to run his own repair garage in Roanoke (Famous for the VW on the roof back before the 1985 flood).  Pete sold the business to a big new car conglomerate a few years ago now, and he took a job working the front of an established repair towing business on the other side of town.  So, I followed him there to continue our auto relationship.  My father-in-law always told me that when you find a great mechanic, stay with him.  He was so very right (That's another story for another day).

I was sitting in the waiting area of the garage waiting for them to finish the oil change and was passing the time catching up with Pete and shooting the breeze about ACC basketball.  Pete's a big Hoo fan, but he's still a good guy.  He shares a passion for basketball like I do.

As we were chatting, sad story after sad story walked in.  One lady came in,   asking for an inspection.  Her car had been rejected at another garage and she said that she keeps getting pulled over.  So far, they've only given her warnings, but the rejection sticker had certainly been on the windshield for a long while. So now, she has new tires and fixed the broken tail light.  Pete helped her make an appointment.

No sooner had the rejected lady left than Myrna came through the door.  She had driven up in an old, pump-squealing, butt-ugly beige Toyota Corolla. Dressed in rumpled sweats but sporting an "Elvis Presley" tote bag resplendent with a smiling portrait of The King on the side, she wobbled up to the counter and asked Pete if she could get an inspection.  Pete, who doesn't miss much, greeted her and asked her if she had come in a few weeks ago for an inspection...Myrna didn't hear him.  So Pete got up, looked out the window at the sticker and discovered that it wasn't expired at all.  Myrna couldn't understand.  She said that her friend had told her she needed to get a sticker or she would get pulled over. 

At this point, I did what I do sometimes; I got involved.  I glanced out the window and notice that her license plate tags are due to expire at the end of March.  So I shared this bit of information with Myrna and Pete.  Myrna was having trouble understanding.  She still wanted Pete to get her the sticker, but Pete gently told her that she needed to deal with the DMV. 

DMV That was like the crack of a rifle for her.  Immediately, she began worrying about going there.  She said that she gets lost so easily around here.   Her son used to live at home with her, and he would take care of stuff like this, but he walked out on her and now never visits and she doesn't know why.  She has so many things to do but doesn't know how and she gets lost.  I suggested that she go online, but she doesn't have a computer.  Then I suggested that perhaps she could call the DMV and ask for them to mail the stickers to her.  Pete was skeptical.  He said that the DMV won't ever answer the phone these days.  But he looked up the number anyway...and couldn't find one.

Myrna, meanwhile, was getting more and more upset.  Frustrated and resigned to hopelessness.  Suddenly, she asked Pete if he had followed all the Billy Graham news.  “He was a great man.”  We all agreed.  She said she watched every moment of all the coverage of his death and funeral. 

Finally, Pete told her that she was going to have to get out there to the DMV in person.  Myrna replied that the place was too busy for her; plus, she didn't know where it was . One time her son took her there - about 30 minutes away (15 actually), but she had no idea where it was.  I asked her if it was the one by the airport, and she said yes, but she didn't know where that was. 

Resigned to failure, she began to leave. Pete got back to work calling parts guys and making appointments.  As she began walking to the door, she said that maybe she could go to the Walmart on Rt. 460 (Bonsack) and ask someone where the DMV is.  Again I piped up by saying, "That's sort of in the wrong direction."

Myrna then plopped down in the comfortable chair beside me and began talking to me about everything.  Her daughter left her with her grandson shortly after he was born and ran away, so she raised him up.  Then he just left her, and she didn't know why.  But he won't even visit any more. 

Since she liked Billy Graham,  I asked her if she goes to church. Perhaps someone from there could take her to the DMV.  But she replied that she used to go until the pastor came in one Sunday and told everyone that he and his wife were leaving and never coming back.  Then everyone just scattered.

One time, she went to see Elvis in concert, and he asked what she wanted to hear.  She told him, "Blue Suede Shoes".  He told her that he didn't care what they wanted; he'd play what he wanted (as he winked at her).  Then he launched into "Blue Suede Shoes".  She said he was the best, but he had a worthless wife and daughter.  “And that horrible daughter is running the mansion and charging an arm and a leg to visit.”  I nodded and told her that was unfortunate. 

In the meantime, I found the phone number for the DMV and wrote it down for her on a scrap of paper with instructions to ask for them to send her new stickers for her license plate.

She took the paper and began fiddling with it.  Myrna, looked defeated and rumpled.  Her teeth were mostly gone and her gray-streaked shoulder-length hair was unkept.  She looked like she was lost in this life. "I'm 78.  I just lost a son 7 months ago, and I just can't seem to get over it.  I just can’t get over it."  (I was a little confused by this...was this the same person as her grandson/son who left her?  But I got the impression that he was someone different.) He was out in a boat oystering when he got scratched on the wrist by a shell.  He should have come in, but his daughter kept the boat out too long.  He died of a staff infection.  I used to oyster too.  I could do it all day (she smiled).  I just can't get over it...."

"I'm sure he'd probably tell you to get on with your life, Myrna."

She agreed and began fidgeting with her key ring.  "Look at this (pointing to her key ring) See that?  "It says ‘Jesus Saves’. It's so pretty." I agreed.  "I guess I'd just better go home."

"That's a good idea," I said.  "Maybe you can get someone to help you get there."

"Maybe my granddaughter will take me."

She wobbled out the door, got in to her defeated Corolla, and slowly retreated with the car squealing every inch.  She drove away searching for answers.