He Did What?
It was a very hot day in July, and I was in a rush, a rush to get to the bank before it closed at 3:00 pm. Many of you, I am sure, remember those days. ATM’s as we know them today were mostly non-existent in Ottawa in the 1980’s, and I certainly did not own a debit card. Lining up inside a bank to withdraw money was just part of one’s banking routine.
As I drove along the road mentally listing all the groceries I needed to buy before the weekend, I felt my blood pressure rising with each red light that forced me to stop. Ben, my 4-year-old son, was strapped into his car seat in the middle seat of our Volkswagen van, and Lauren, our 12-year-old neighbour, sat in beside me in the passenger seat.. They were singing some silly ‘Raffi’ song about brushing their teeth, which did little to settle my swirling mind.
I finally arrived at the bank and turned into the parking lot. I drove into a space along the back edge of the lot, which was shaded by a big maple tree. Glancing at my watch, I knew if I hurried into the bank, I would be just fine, as they never made you leave the premises once through the doors.
I checked with Lauren to make sure she was all right with staying in the van and keeping an eye on Ben. I admonished Ben to stay in his seat and behave himself for Lauren, promising him a donut from the grocery store if he was a good boy. I was never above bribing my children to ensure the required behaviour, and I didn’t have time to take Ben with me to the bank. Grabbing my purse from between the two front seats of the van, I hustled across the parking lot and around to the bank’s front doors.
As soon as I walked into the bank, my stomach cramped.. It was packed with people all on the same mission as me. People who just wanted to get their money from the teller and get on with the rest of their day.
In those days, you picked a line that looked promising and took your place at the end of the queue. Jumping lines was definitely, frowned upon, and more often than not, the line I picked seemed to be full of people with very complex banking needs. Line envy was a very real phenomenon. I stood there, watching other lines move ahead toward their designated teller while mine refused to move at all.
The line I was in finally started to move forward, albeit slowly, and I hoped that Ben was behaving himself and that I could return to the van soon. I prayed that Ben, ever a precocious child, wouldn’t do anything to get himself into trouble and that Lauren could keep him amused while I was gone.
I was busy making plans in my head for the rest of the day when I felt a tug on my shirt from behind. I turned, and there was Lauren. Her big brown eyes, staring out of a very pale face, were filled with a look of terror. Every freckle on her face stood out in stark relief. Oh my God, I thought, what has happened? Ben was not with her.
I stuttered out, “Where is Ben?” followed quickly with, “What is wrong?” Tears streamed down Lauren’s face. She blurted out that Ben had driven the van down the hill at the back of the parking lot. I grabbed Lauren’s hand and asked if Ben was all right. She was mostly incoherent as we left the bank and raced across the parking lot. My mind was bombarded with visions of every tragedy that could possibly have happened. Adrenaline raced through my body. I was sure I would find the van turned over at the bottom of the embankment, and there would be blood everywhere. Ben would be crushed under the van. My life as I knew it will have come to an end!
Lauren and I came to an abrupt stop at the top edge of the hill at the back of the parking lot. I looked down, and there at the bottom was our Volkswagen van, settled and upright in a vegetable garden. It was surrounded by destroyed tomato plants and a large number of crushed tomatoes.
Ben was not lying dead on the ground covered in blood but rather sitting quietly at a picnic table with a grandmotherly woman who was quietly holding Ben’s hand. He seemed quite at home with this woman and not at all perturbed by the sight of our van sitting in the garden beside him. I, on the other hand, was a complete mess.
Ben, I shouted as I scrambled down the embankment, “Are you all right?” I could hardly form the words and push them out of my mouth! The kind woman holding Ben’s hand quietly invited Lauren and me to sit down with them and asked if we would like some cookies and lemonade. The whole scene was surreal. I was shaking, and perspiration dripped down my back. I sank down on the picnic table bench, and the shock of what had happened slowly subsided. I felt my heart rate slow down and finally realized I was closer to being under control.
The kind woman whose tomato garden our van had decimated went into her home to gather refreshments, and I slowly started to piece together what had happened while I was in the bank. Lauren told me that Ben had unbuckled himself from his car seat and hopped up into the driver’s side of the van. He then pretended he was driving the van and told Lauren he was going to be as good a driver as his Daddy.
Somehow, and I may never be able to figure it all out, he managed to release the clutch, and the van started a slow roll over the edge and down the hill into the garden below. Once the van started down the hill, there was no way to stop its downward trajectory.
Lauren said she had panicked and jumped out of the van halfway down the slope, and all I could think of was, thank goodness, the van did not roll and crush her underneath. She told me the van had come to rest in the vegetable garden, and the woman who owned the home rushed out of the back door, calling out to make sure Lauren was okay, and then moved to the driver’s side of the van to help Ben out. Apparently, the house owner and Ben bonded instantly. Not surprising, as Ben has always had a way with women of all ages who always fell under the spell of his sweet personality. The woman then instructed Lauren to return to the bank and bring me back outside. When I arrived, it seemed Ben was in the middle of telling this woman his whole life story, short as it was, and perhaps it might have come to an even shorter end than anyone had anticipated.
Cell phones weren’t something most people carried, and even if they did, they were too big to fit in a pocket. I had no way to contact my husband for help figuring out how to get out of this dilemma. I kept taking deep breaths to calm my body’s reaction. Looking around the yard, I realized it was flat, and the ground was dry and hard. It would only take me a few minutes to load Ben and Lauren into the van and drive out. A quick escape was possible, but I knew the kindly woman had probably recorded my licence plate. She seemed to be in complete control, and one call to the police would result in my escape being thwarted.
I didn’t know what to say to this woman. How could I repay her for her destroyed vegetables? The situation seemed impossible. I wondered whether my car insurance would cover her loss. I mumbled something about repayment, and she kindly said that would be unnecessary. The damage was just to some vegetable plants which could be replaced easily.
She went on to say, “I just called my son, and would you please wait until he gets home – he wants to take some pictures.” My anxiety went through the roof. “Pictures,” I asked tremulously?” Yes, she replied: My son is a lawyer, and he wants to document what has happened here.” My hands started to shake as I repeated, “A lawyer? Oh my God!”
We all sat quietly at the picnic table, munching on cookies and drinking lemonade, waiting for her son, the lawyer, to arrive. Quite a civilized scene to an outside observer, and in no way did it reveal the state of my angst.
She smiled at me as if sensing my unease, and she said, “Don’t worry, dear. We won’t go after you and your family. We just need the pictures to document this and show the company that owns the parking lot property. Maybe we can finally get them to build a fence along the back edge of the lot. We have been trying for years now to find a way to make this happen, and they have refused to acknowledge our fears. She went on to say that she had three grandchildren whom she looked after several days a week, and she had to constantly make sure they did not go near the back edge of their property for fear of something like this happening. She knew it was only a matter of time before something happened. She had never dreamt it would be a van driven by a four-year-old child who would be instrumental in getting the fence finally built. The whole situation in her backyard would give them the necessary ammunition
The ‘lawyer’ son arrived home, carrying a Polaroid camera (the requisite camera for all lawyers in those days), and took all the pictures he felt were necessary. He then sat down to share a quick glass of lemonade before offering to help me drive my van out of the garden and onto the street in front of his mother’s house. He also took down all my pertinent information in case he needed to contact me when he reached out to the parking lot owners. I realized that was the least I could do to help, and obviously, I was in no position to refuse.
I never heard from those people again, but one month later, when I returned to the bank parking lot, a chain-link fence had been erected along its back edge. Every time I went to the bank, it was there, reminding me of Ben’s role in getting that fence built and my decision never to leave Ben alone in the van again without a mature adult present.
