The camera, on tripod, tipped over "clunk." Dad wheeled around to save it and swerved the Dodge into the north-side ditch. A day that left a freeze point on my soul forty years ago; surely one day I would be abandoned. The ditch is shallow now; the road has changed a lot in forty years. I remember the car being far down, tilted sideways into a steep ravine ... but I was only seven, when deep was deeper.
Fifty feet back toward the river, the open hillside cut where Dad frantically gathered gravely sand hoping to provide enough tire traction for the heavy old car to drag itself out. Didn't happen. Dad grunting, sweating in the winter sun, while contrarian snow jeered from the ditch. Dad becoming desperate, flinging gravel and singing the tires and me growing frightened at his panic when it became apparent he was not going to succeed.
Dad finally relented his fervor, packed up a snowball and threw it hard at the Dodge. Then instructed me: "Stay in the car. I'm going for help."
He held open the back seat door, said he'd be back as soon as he could, then walked over the hill out of sight. I knew he'd be back, but was apprehensive about being left alone. It's what Dad needed me to do ... never considered whether I should be afraid, or if he would come back. Dad would get help and come back. I sat sideways on the bizarrely tilted back seat. The car was warm and safe in the winter sun. I played with a kiddy ring, the sort made of cheap bendable metal. Took it off and amused boredom by dropping it onto a bulls-eye pattern in the fabric of the seat cover. Growing sleepy. Wondering where Dad was, how far, how long. Never doubting.
I awoke, sensing a fear-urging change in the angle of light and color of sun, shadows casting. More than a few minutes had passed, a significant period of time, maybe hours. I had no watch; there was no way to know.
Oh-oh, I've been gone off and left. Alone. Forgotten forever." Fear of abandonment. Dad so exasperated with his old car he'd leave it, keep walking, and go home. One day Mom would look up from her sewing and wonder: "didn't we used to have a Dodge? Oh, and a son?"
I muscled the door open, heavy against the upward angle. Bleary-eyed and whimpering, I conquered it and stepped onto the road and began walking the direction Dad had disappeared. Up the hill through crusty-crunch snow. Melt sparkles, hardship sun, blue tree shadows knifing across the trail. Road leveling out. Alone in the desolate emptiness.
I saw a small dark object half-a-mile distant. Couldn't tell if it was approaching or receding. A man or overgrown wolf. The figure grew larger. Couldn't yet tell if it was Dad. Then realizing it was, running in little leg boots, slipping, lurching, and crying. Maybe I'm not alone anymore. Relinquishing myself in a great flood of emotion.
Dad did not run to me, or soothe. He did not try to make it all right, or to help. I did not see horror in his eyes or regret at my terror as he picked me up and walked on, scolding for worrying and leaving the car. He said he'd found a farmhouse with a tractor and men to come pull the car out. They'd be here soon enough, "now hush".
We got back to the car and dad set back in trying to rescue himself. I stayed close by.
Within fifteen minutes we heard far-off thumping of a John Deere. Its muffled pulse gradually loudened, forever approaching it seemed, then a man's head crowned the hill. Two young boys stood on axle housings at each side. A visual thrill booming down the hill toward us.
Not a lot of bustle about the emergency at hand. Chains were attached, grownups stood around talking and spitting and cursing. Then to work. Tractor throbs increasing, boys slipping, chains clinking, groaning Dodge. Hardworking motors, exhaust, muscles twisting body English. Car sliding through the ditch and flattening year-old saplings, but not coming out. Tractor backing. Narrow road, no room to maneuver with brush hanging in.
"Try this!"
Shortening the chains double, tractor sideways.
Ribbed tires skidding, icy snow winning, back off to consider. Gravel hauled for traction, keen high action. Try again.  Ease the clutch, tires grab and crunch. Deere thumping, slower ... stopping quiet. Re-start the motor, back up some slack, let out the clutch and jerk the car sideways. Tires gouging, car six inches up. Back and yank six inches more. Tide turning, me standing wide-eyed, captivated by the brute power of it all. Front tires out, car almost sideways on the road. Tractor backing, chains released, attached to the rear of the car. More jerking, cursing, motors chugging.
Weary Dodge resting atop the road. Chains removed and stowed. A moment of discomfort, men standing around waiting to know what to do or say. Dad offered five dollars for their neighborly help. Accepted. Thankful and relieved, but surprised that neighbors out here were for hire. ~ CM.