The autumn after we graduated from college, my friend Marie and I took a trip to England. We planned every detail, determined to make this the vacation of a lifetime. Every penny we had went into our dream vacation. We decided that renting a car for the month would afford us the most freedom, and Marie’s mother lent us her credit card for the rental.

By the time our flight arrived at Heathrow Airport, we were delirious with anticipation and lack of sleep. It was a crisp, bright morning, and we had four weeks ahead of us to explore a new country. We picked up our little blue rental car and were sent off with a map and a reminder to Marie to stay on the left side of the road. We drove away in high spirits, laughing as Marie tried to shift gears on the wrong side and smacked her arm on the door.

Within five minutes we were lost, but even that was exhilarating—our first time lost in a foreign country! We found ourselves driving down a narrow street in a small shopping district, and as I consulted our photocopied map, Marie gasped and there was a terrible scraping noise.

A car had cut us off and Marie, forgetting for an instant about the left side of the car, veered too far over and scraped a parked car. She pulled over. We sat there, frozen, staring at each other in horror.

Then Marie burst into tears, sobbing brokenly, “Oh my God, what am I going to do? The insurance! My mother’s credit card! They’re going to sue me!”

“Maybe it isn’t that bad,” I said cautiously, getting out of the car to inspect the damage.

The car had a long white scrape on the driver’s side and the wing mirror had been knocked loose, dangling at a drunken angle. Walking to the other vehicle, I saw a matching blue scar on the white paint. I heard a wail of anguish behind me as Marie surveyed the damage.

I tried to reassure her.

But Marie was inconsolable. Weeping and trembling with fear, she cried out, “I’ve ruined our vacation! They’ll sue me for all my money! My mother will never forgive me!”

She was certain that the repercussions would be awful. I had to admit I had no reason to think differently. When she had calmed down a bit, we decided to find the owner of the car she had hit and walked over to the shop closest to the scraped car. A bell tinkled over our heads as we opened the door and a middle-aged woman came out of the back room to greet us.

“Excuse me, but I was w-wondering if that wh-white car is yours, b-because I – ” Marie faltered and started crying again.

The woman came forward in concern.

“Good heavens, are you all right, dear?”

I explained what had happened. As I finished, a man came out of the back with raised eyebrows.

The woman guided Marie to a seat and said, “These poor girls have just come from the airport and gotten all muddled up and scraped a car. There, dear, have a tissue.”

As the woman fussed over Marie, I walked out with the man to survey the damage. After looking at both cars we went back into the shop and he said cheerfully, “Well, there’s no harm done. It’s just a little scratch, some polish will take care of that. Don’t worry yourselves about it.”

Still sniffling, Marie asked, “Is… is it your car?”

“Oh, no, but we know the fellow who owns it. Don’t worry, this happens all the time with people coming from Heathrow. We’re quite used to it around here. It’s a shame that your holiday had to start out with such a scare.” Marie and I looked at each other incredulously.

“Are you sure? I mean, won’t your friend be mad? We should at least pay for—”

The woman wouldn’t let Marie finish. “Don’t be silly. It’s just a scratch, and he knows the risk parking there. He’ll be sorry to hear you were so upset about such a little thing. Really, you mustn’t let it spoil your holiday.”

After repeatedly assuring us that the owner of the car would not be angry and offering us tea, the kindly couple waved us on our way with wishes for a wonderful vacation and a reminder to get some polish for the scratch on our rental.

Later that week we stayed with my uncle, who polished the scrape until it disappeared and popped the wing mirror back into place.

In the days that followed, Marie and I met many kind and generous people who helped make our dream vacation perfect. However, the most lasting impression was made in the first hour of our trip, by a couple who believed that a young woman’s happiness was far more important than a blue scrape on some white paint.