“Ready to go?” Eliyahu calls out to his wife.

“Almost” Aviva answers trying to keep her tone calm because she hates trips. Especially trips where they don’t exactly know the way there.

“I’m going downstairs.” Eliyahu’s getting nervous.

“I’m coming” Aviva calls out. She wants to at least start off on the right foot.

“Did you close all the windows” Eliyahu asks.

“Uhmmm.” Aviva’s saying as little as possible. She doesn’t want to visit an old relative. She had different plans for her Sunday than to go to Connecticut and she’s afraid of saying anything to Eliyahu that will spill the beans on her attitude. The discord will start before they even get on the highway.

“I’m in the car” Eliyahu shouts up to Aviva who rushes to lock up and runs down the steps calling out “Okay.”

“Hijacked” Aviva mumbles under her breath as she closes the car door.

This time Eliyahu hears it and calls her on it. “Is it so terrible to take one day out to see an old relative I haven’t seen in years?”

Aviva wants to say yes because that’s how she feels but she doesn’t answer.

“Here’s your coffee” she says instead. Aviva’s a pro at changing gears to neutral.

Eliyahu’s calmed by the thought that his wife cared enough about him to bring the coffee — and by the fact that the red light turns green just as he pulls up to it. These things are already a good enough omen to lead him to believe it’s not going to be a bad trip after all.

“Wow I haven’t seen Aunt Alice in ages.” Eliyahu’s pepping up for the reunion.

“You know she was my favorite aunt.” Eliyahu feels free enough on the open highway to share his childhood feelings with his wife.

Aviva’s still getting over the fact that she has to make this trip to Connecticut at the start of a week that already looks hectic.

“I think you get off here.” Aviva points with a tinge of judgment in her finger to the exit she remembers from years ago.

“Nope.” Eliyahu’s sure.

“So get off at the next one.” Aviva’s sure. She’s been a back-seat driver for years.

“Your blinker’s on” she reminds her husband.

He starts to drive what she feels is too fast. “If you drive too fast you’ll miss the exit.” Aviva’s sure.

“Uh-oh.” Eliyahu’s famous “uh-oh.”

“What’s uh-oh?” Aviva asks. She already knows but she’s hoping this time it’s not that.

“I think we took a wrong turn.”

Aviva just shakes her head. She knows this trip.

“Check the GPS” she suggests in that back-seat driver tone.

Eliyahu pulls over.

“What’s the name of the street?” Eliyahu has to ask.

“Bedford” Aviva says half paying attention.

“Bedford’s in Brooklyn.”

Eliyahu proverbially takes back the wheel.

“Oh right. Stanford.” Aviva remembers.

“Stanford Stanford Stanford” Eliyahu sings as he pushes the buttons of the GPS.

He finds the street. “Okay it’s highay10. We’ll turn around here.”

“There’s no turn-around” Aviva says in a slight but obvious disappointment tenor.

“Try to pay better attention” Aviva slips.

Pay better attention? Eliyahu’s ignited.

“Sorry sorry sorry.” Aviva apologizes before Eliyahu revs up his anger.

The long drawn-out excruciating silence that follows lasts about twenty minutes — times every Sunday drive for twenty years.

Eliyahu usually forgives pretty quickly but Aviva’s been more critical lately — and it’s getting harder to forgive and forget. Or maybe it’s just the lack of flexibility that comes with age.

“You know” Aviva treads lightly “it’s so beautiful here.” She starts to try to relax understanding that she’s crossed the border and she’s already here for the ride. “The scenery’s really beautiful.” She notices for the first time old oaks and pine. She sits back into the seat only now aware that she’s been hunched forward since Brooklyn. She’s been so negative and critical angry that nothing turns out the way she wants or thinks it should be. She decides it’s time to take a totally new tactic though the behavior’s been embedded for almost a quarter of a century never getting her to the right place.

“You know …” She tests the waters. They’re calm.

“You know we probably get lost because there’s some brachah that needs to be said here — or something that needs to be repaired like the story of the Baal Shem Tov how he sent one of his chasssidim to a far-off place. No one understood why but it was because that particular place needed to be repaired. So when the chassid sat down next to the stream cupped some water in his hands and made a blessing — he completed the repair. Maybe we need to make a blessing on this road.”

Eliyahu sits up straighter.

His wife has just repaired years with her encouraging faith-filled words towards him.

“Hey there’s the turn off!” Aviva points with enthusiasm instead of judgment.

“Eliyahu sees the signs. Relieved to know they are traveling in the right direction.

Without knowing how much his words mean Eliyahu turns to  his wife and says “You make the most wonderful back-seat driver.”