It was dark and rainy on the highway. Raindrops trickled on the windshield. Ma periodically put the wipers on. The roads were filled with puddles. Ma drove slowly. Her shoulders were tensed, and her eyes never left the road. She did not play music as she usually did when we drove. I was in the back seat, buckled up, with light fever, staring at the little idol of the golden-colored Lord Ganesha Ma had placed near the steering wheel.
****
Ma always prayed to a photo of Lord Ganesha in our living room before leaving the house. She said it helped remove obstacles and tried to make me pray, too.
"Will God bail me out of trouble?" I asked.
"Of course," she replied.
I wondered why God never came to my aid when I was having trouble in math, and the rest of my fourth-grade class laughed at me, ridiculing my accent or brown skin. I tried praying to the elephant-faced God. But the math problems continued to swarm inside my head, and my fourth-grade class still called me a brownie. I eventually gave up.
"One day, you will realize the existence of God," Ma said.
I would sulk and retreat to my room, where I played Roblox, thriving in a virtual world with more accepting friends.
****
We were going to a dinner organized at Ma's boss's house. Her name was Jenny. I didn’t want to go. But Pa was traveling, and Ma could not find a babysitter. Besides, Ma couldn't miss this dinner, as it involved an important client deal. There was a rumble of thunder. Suddenly, the car swirled. It felt like that ride in Disney Land - Alice's tea party where we would sit inside large cups that would go round and round. I heard Ma gasp as she clutched the steering wheel. The car continued to rotate, and Ma tried to press the brake hard. I began to scream. Ma started to chant the mantra I often heard her say.
Om gan ganpathaye namaha.
Then, all of a sudden, our car stopped rotating. The other cars on the highway slammed their brakes and stopped, too. It was a miracle none of them rammed into us. Ma steered the vehicle to the curb. A sudden burning smell wafted into my nostrils. Ma got out, examined the wheels, and returned dripping wet to her driver's seat.
"What happened, Ma?"
"The rear tire burst," she began to dial 911.
I heard Ma explain breathlessly how she was stuck on the highway, gave directions to our location, and hung up after being told help would arrive. The sound of pelting rain reverberated into the ghostly silence in the car. We waited for a long time. Ma began to chant the mantra again while I glared at the golden idol. We could have been killed. Then, there was a tap on the window. Ma rolled her window down and was greeted by a kind-faced police officer.
"Are you alright?" he flashed his torchlight inside the car.
He happened to be patrolling the highway when he spotted our car. Ma explained the situation and said she'd called 911. He examined our car’s tires and made a few calls.
He turned to us and said, "I have called for a tow truck. It'll take you back home. I'll be behind you in my jeep until the truck arrives."
Ma thanked him, glanced at her watch, and frowned. Then she dialed a number on her phone.
"I hope Jenny will understand," she muttered. The number kept going to voicemail.
I shuffled in my seat, feeling suddenly dizzy. All I wanted was to go home and lie down on my bed. I wondered if Jenny would be angry and whether Ma would lose her job. I cursed the Golden Ganesha for putting Ma and me in trouble. Suddenly, Ma's phone rang. I could hear her apologizing. Then she heaved a sigh of relief.
"Are you serious? He's not coming?"
My head began to pound.
"Thank you, Jenny. Appreciate it."
Ma literally kissed the Golden Ganesha idol. She turned to me and said the client had an accident and decided to reschedule the dinner meeting. I was relieved we were going home.
The policeman's jeep was still behind us. His headlights were on, and it almost felt like having a guardian angel. Then, a truck pulled over in front of us after a few minutes. The driver asked Ma for our address, instructed us to lock our doors, and hurled our car at the back of his truck, saying we'd reach home safely. The policeman waved and continued on his patrol.
It was a bumpy ride. Our car shook and wobbled while the truck navigated through the slush on the roads. My tummy swirled. I felt like throwing up. After thirty minutes, we were home. Ma parked the car on the side street instead of our garage. She paid the truck driver and thanked him. Then she opened the front door, and I plonked myself on the couch.
"We were lucky even to be alive," she said. "It's a miracle that policeman showed up. Apparently, 911 was attending to several accidents on that highway tonight."
The following day, Ma had a mechanic come to replace the tires. I was in the living room watching an episode of Young Sheldon, empathizing with his oddities and inability to fit in. My fever had come down. A photo of Lord Ganesha, the one Ma would pray to every morning, was placed above the television. It was hanging crooked. I continued sitting on the couch and stared at the crooked photo for a long time, replaying last night’s events. I could almost see a slight smile on the elephant God's face. I sighed and reluctantly muttered a thank you. Outside, the sky was clearing up. Soon, there would be sunlight, and the roads would dry from the puddles.
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