I got a call from Switzerland this morning.
I was outside looking at my car, which 24 hours ago had been a normal piece of driving equipment, but by that point a flat tire on the passenger side had led me to self-medicate the situation. So I picked up the proverbial and bejewelled title of Independent Woman and changed the flat myself.
I was rather proud of this acheivment, seeing that it was four years since the last time I changed a tire (and that time really just consisted of my dad telling me which wrench to hand him as he changed it for me.) However something was obviously wrong.
The tire stuck out about two inches from the edge of the wheel well, I couldnt screw the little screw things (I'm not the most technical mechanic..) on right, and well I was just nervous.
I had to wave the white flag.
When Brian Field came home after my phone call he laughed. "Lyndsay, honey, it's just on backwards." Blast. All the efforts of Alice Paul, Oprah Winfrey, and Joan of Arc wasted on a little failed geometry and engineering.
Then I really did mean to change it myself but at that point my sister ran out of the house holding the home phone. It may have well been another four years since I've had an actual conversation on that thing, so I was a little perplexed, bemused, intrigued.
The voice on the other end started laughing, finally managing a lovely and slightly accented "Lynnnn!"
Vanja Gudalo, the true incarnation of the Independent Woman. I'm sick and sound like a 13 year old boy on a date, so who knows if she really recognizes my voice at first. It has been over nine months since I've last heard her speak! Nine months since home-made Croatian treats, girl talks in my car, pronunciation corrections, (remember wagina at the Montage?) and the excitement only a Swiss can create over American high school. We start to talk, and my mind is reeling over the fact that she is calling me from thousands of miles away. She is so removed from Canby, Oregon, that Google maps can't even calculate the miles between here and Switzerland. (Don't judge me, I did try.)
Does Switzerland really exist, then? Does anything outside of America? Probably not, given my small range of experience. Except for Jamaica, Canada and Mexico, the three places I have traveled internationally. I have touched their dirt, eaten their food, purchased their own cheap keychains from trashy tourist hot-spots. Vanja, however, has been here; where I am sitting right now. She has touched my dirt and eaten my food. Our conversation is like a shaded window. She can see all of me but all I can do is dream about what she sees and feels and tastes as she sits by the window in her room and shares about her boyfriend and school and European summer plans.
Something in this distance merits awe. My dad says, "Well shoot! All the way from Switzerland! Tell the gal we miss her." and proceeds to fix my tire. I don't even have to pass wrenches.
What is it? I want to pinpoint the source of the magic in this distance. The magic isn't me, nor is it Vanja (Though she comes as close to magic as any person I know, V and her Swiss morals and sayings.) It is something between us and around us and could at any point in time connect any person on this earth. And it is all relative to each of those persons.
Mmmm distance.
Well somewhere in the time-distance of next summer and the summer after that her and I will exchange the miles for minutes and be in the presence of each other's voices again. Without a phone acting as middle-man between us. I have some moneys put away deep in my pocket, and you don't have to be too much of an Independent Woman to track down plane ticket prices from PDX to Switzerland. You see, I really miss her and I'm in dire need of experiences.
I'm tired of shaded windows.
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