AMERICA ASUNDER

The world is a divided unhappy mess. No matter the topic, people are at odds, carping about Epic Fury, the benefit or repercussions of Artificial Intelligence, climate change, paying $2 for a small can of Campbell’s tomato soup, ICE!

Democrats can’t talk frankly or openly to the MAGA crowd who themselves avoid discussions about Trump’s latest middle-of-the-night social media post. Right here in the Wells woods, there’s a couple who adore each other but can’t abide the other’s political leanings. Yup, me and Mr. Wonderful.

We’ve tried (dear God, have we ever!) to have friendly, non-combative, low decibel discussions (“HUSH, the neighbors can hear us!”) about the Epstein files, Pete Hegseth, Zohran Mamdani, James Talarico, Nancy Pelosi, J-6. We’ve learned to stifle yelling SEE! when a host on MSNOW or FOX announces a national poll in our favor. 

Every day, Mr. W plugs in his auditory aids so he doesn’t get distracted by my shows on the Samsung big screen — Chris Hays, Nicole Wallace and Rachel Maddow. I keep my ear pods in tight so I don’t have to hear Jessie Watters, Maria Bartiromo or Brian Kilmeade blathering from his iPhone. We also watch these shows in different rooms!

I often wonder if America can ever return to the happy united world I grew up in, and if Mr. W and I will ever be able to have a polite political discussion.

Then … the crash.

Several days ago I was driving on a busy road past the Maine Mall in Portland. I was stopped at a red light, scanning signs for the entrance to the Maine Turnpike when suddenly, loudly, horrendously, someone slammed into the rear end of my three-month-old just-carwashed Subaru Outback. 

NO!

My first thought: will the other driver be nasty or argumentative or blame me. I knew it wasn’t my fault because I was legitimately stopped at a red light but … these days, you never know.

Audis and pickup trucks whizzed by as I inched out of my Outback and carefully sidled back to inspect the damage. I was relieved to see that the car would only need a little fixing but noticed that the other would require substantially more.

The other driver approached me, a lovely young woman who gently grabbed my hands and said, “Are you okay? Are you hurt? I’m so sorry — I don’t know what happened but my brakes didn’t work.” I told her I was fine and asked how she was. “I’m okay, a little shook up, but I’m more worried about you. Are you sure you’re not hurt? And by the way, my name is Caroline.” 

Mind you, Caroline and I were having this conversation in the middle lane of a busy highway, surrounded by agitated drivers honking their horns. She said, “I’m on my way to the Jetport, but here’s my name and phone number, and I promise to call you later. I’ll also get in touch with my insurance people immediately.” 

Then she added, “Can we hug?” 

We stood amidst a cacophony of blaring horns and fast traffic, embracing like best pals, smiling at and reassuring each other that all would be okay.  Not one person bothered to slow down and stop to help two women — one in her 80s, one in her salad days — who obviously were in a bit of a jam. But Caroline and I helped each other.

True to her word, Caroline has been in touch, we’ve exchanged insurance information, and all will be taken care of. What could have been a surly unpleasant situation evaporated with her graciousness.

I can’t help thinking that our nation needs a good swift kick in the ass too. (Pardonnez-moi…) But isn’t it time to pump down the unpleasant volume, demonstrate more grace, and act like grownup caring Americans. 

If an old lady and a young woman can handle a car crash with civility and effectiveness, I believe there’s hope.