Ed B.

Ed had a reassuring voice. It was low and calm and complemented by his warm personality. He was returning my call. Rushing inside, I picked up the phone as he was leaving a message.

Wait. I'm here, I said.

Oh, good!

I told him I had a car, the keys and a title to donate.

Well that's all I need, he said, chuckling. I'll be by in the morning.

And he was. Like clockwork he showed up in a van pulling an empty trailer behind. I didn't know what to quite what to expect from our brief conversation on the phone, but when he drove up, I wasn't disappointed. Everything about Ed matched the sound of his voice. The twinkle in his eyes, his slow walk, the plainness of his clothes, his smile, it all fit his voice to a tee. Even the wrinkles on his face. His name tag said, Ed B.

That's quite a trailer you've got, I said.

Isn't it!? he replied. And take a look at this mount I had a buddy build for me.

He walked over and slapped his left hand on a flat steel plate attached to the trailer hitch.

I just slip my winch in here and pull 'em up on the trailer if they aren't in running order. I had it mounted high so the cable doesn't rub on the end of the trailer.

And he told me the story of how he used to tow the cars on a dolly. (Two vehicles and one set of brakes!) He was quite happy with the trailer and the winch mount and the winch. He even had a compressed air tank in case the cars came with flat tires. And you should have seen the come-alongs he strapped the car down with once he got it on the trailer.

You can never have too many giant come-alongs, I said, figuring if carpenters can say it about their clamps, surely Ed felt it about his come-alongs.

That's for sure! This car isn't going anywhere.

Somehow (I don't know how.) we started talking about Illinois. Perhaps I mentioned my brother or maybe our annual summer trips up north.

Well I'm from Chicago! he exclaimed with the glee of a 20 year old. The South Side. Leo Derocher when to my high school. State football champs several years in a row.

I am sad to say I don't remember where. None of the towns he mentioned even rung a bell. I never did know the South Side at all.

And then he started talking about the winter and the cold and the arthritis in his fingers and how he moved to Texas many years ago.

I moved here twenty-one years ago and am never leaving, I said.

He smiled, got in the van, started it up, and drove off.

And that was the last I saw of station wagon #2.

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