The Little Red Wagon

By Jerry Mack Grubbs

It was the 21st day of December and I had spent a few moments at the cemetery remembering a close friend and visiting old memories. It was a beautiful day, crisp and clear with a gentle breeze blowing. I tucked my neck down into the collar of my coat as I finished writing a few thoughts, closed my notebook and headed back to the car.

I turned left as I exited the cemetery and headed for a Christmas visit with another friend from my past. I see her only once each year now and yet twenty years ago we were together every working day. I knew a little of her hopes and dreams and some of her disappointments. But today she and I will reflect on days gone by, catch up on the events of the current year and after a brief hug, say our goodbyes for another year. Oh, we will promise to get together more often; go to lunch and have Mexican food, but it will not happen.

It will not happen because life gets busy with obligations and routine commitments. But mostly it will not happen because our lives become intertwined for a season and then a pruning separates the old from the new. This year she will once again say, "I wondered if you would come this year." And I will think, "We prune, gather, stack and burn but no one can prune away my memories." We lived and laughed and worked and played. We even shared that friend who is now silent that I visited in the cemetery. She will ask if I know what day this is and we will both know it is the anniversary of his passing.

While sitting at a red light and thinking about the upcoming visit with her, I noticed a black BMW sedan pass by in front of me. It was spotless, so spotless it caught my eye. But what really caught my attention was a red wagon full of Christmas presents in the back seat of that car. When the light changed I impulsively decided to follow the BMW. Pulling in close behind the black car I noticed that it was a 530xi. That didn't mean anything to me but I was sure it meant something to the owner. I wanted to jot down the license plate number but I didn't. The BMW was headed east on Fourth South Street and I decided to pull up beside it to get a closer look at the red wagon in the back seat. But my attention was drawn to the occupants of the car.

It is interesting what you can see in a person if you look close enough. I'm not talking about receding hairlines on men and turtleneck sweaters on women to hide what cosmetic surgery can't roll back the clock on. I'm talking about the look of happiness, contentment, worry or grief. Today I saw worry and grief chiseled in stone on the faces of the couple in the spotless black BMW sedan. They were well dressed. The lady passenger didn't have a single blond hair out of place and the morning sun danced on her golden necklace. The driver wore a heavy starched white shirt with monogrammed cuffs. They each had an unopened water bottle cradled in the console cup holders. They appeared to be in their mid thirties but the strain on their faces gave them the appearance of statues devoid of life or manikins in a department store window.

They did not speak. They did not look at each other or toward me but stared straight ahead as though in a trance. I wanted to know their story. I wanted to know who the little red wagon full of Christmas presents was for. As I continued to follow the BMW, it turned toward the University of Utah Hospital. I began to imagine that this couple had a young son or daughter gravely ill and that they were filled with despair. I lost them in the hospital parking terrace but I wasn't too concerned. How many couples would be pulling a red wagon full of Christmas presents through the corridor of the hospital? To my dismay the couple was just entering the elevator when I reached the main foyer. All I knew was that they were headed up. I was blocked by a sea of people. Something was wrong. There had been a "Code Pink" issued just as I entered the hospital. Code Pink meant there had been an infant abduction and every exit to the hospital was being closed off. It took several minutes before everyone knew that it was just a security drill.

Security drill or not, I had lost the couple with the red wagon full of Christmas presents. But what I could not forget was that look of despair on their faces. There are some things that money cannot buy. It cannot buy health and it cannot buy happiness. The look on the faces of that couple told me that they would trade anything for what they did not have, a healthy child. A spotless black BMW sedan, starched white shirts and gold necklaces become nothing more than pruned limbs, gathered, stacked and prepared for burning if that sacrifice would restore what that couple had lost.

While wandering the halls of the hospital in search of the little red wagon full of Christmas presents, I came across another friend from the past. What a pleasant yet unexpected reunion we enjoyed. We exchanged phone numbers and agreed to meet for lunch one day. I left the hospital with a lighter step because of a friendship renewed coupled with a pain in my heart for a couple I did not know. I returned to my car and continued on my journey to visit that friend with whom I had laughed and worked and played so many years ago. I didn't have a little red wagon full of Christmas presents for her but I did have memories to share and moments to remember. I heard her voice. I enjoyed her smile. Our friendship has survived the pruning, gathering, stacking and burning that separates the old from the new.  After the pruning comes the tender new growth. Oh, how good it is to be alive and pull my little red wagon along the road of my mind and fill it with memories, hopes and dreams and friendships renewed.