How many times must I repeat this? Since I was conscious, something awful has always happened around my birthday. Even when I work extensively on creating positive energy, going slow, taking vitamins, filling out all forms and checking them twice, something awful happens around my birthday. I was almost convinced that this year, five days away from the doom-date, I would emerge unscathed.
Hahahahhahahhahaha. The Universe laughed.
Sitting in my Subaru, waiting for an early take-out dinner at the local Eastern Fusion Palace to be wrapped to go, I notice a burly young guy come out of the AT and T outlet and climb into his monster truck, which is parked right next to me. He peels out way too fast and BOOM!!!!! The front end of Tortuga-the-sea-green Subaru is spread underneath his giant back tires, glass and wires and everything fiberglass strewn in all directions! I lean on the horn, which still works, and he stops, dead.
I am so furious! No airbags have gone off. I have no whiplash or pain, but the entire front of my beloved little New England car is squashed and smashed on the macadam! And the guy cooly hops out of his gargantuan cab, phone in hand, full of cool machismo, telling me "Be calm, Lady. I got insurance. It will pay ..."
"Hey!" I am not screaming but I am yelling at him, yeah! Damn straight! "I was parked! I didn't even have the motor running! YOU were parked, right next to me! It's broad daylight! No other cars on either side of us, man! How could you NOT SEE me?????"
"I don't know, be cool, Lady. I told you, the insurance will pay. I'm not gonna give you any trouble!" He holds up his hands and gives me "The Big Man Look".
"Yeah they'll pay! You hit a parked car with the driver in the driver's seat! You took off my front end! You smeared it all over the lot! Anyway, it's not about money! I'm a teacher! This is the week of final exams! I have a prom to chaperone next week! I have two elderly parents at home and now I've got no wheels! No wheels! How am I going to get to work? How am I going to get home? Pick up prescriptions? Groceries? My car is full of stuff for my Senior graduates! I've got kayak paddles and backpacks and hiking stuff in the back of the car! It doesn't look like much, but it's a good car and look at it! What am I going to do, now? I don't even have a ride home!" I feel myself shaking.
I think of the blood pressure meds I didn't pick up this morning, believing I'd do it before heading back to Maple Street...
"I'm sorry, just, well, you want me to call a cop?" The guy drops a little of the attitude.
"Yeah, I want a cop, here, and your insurance stuff, Man. Get it out." As usual, I am not afraid. I am not tearful. I am pissed off. I am furious. I feel taller than this guy. My mind knows, if he wants to drive off, I've got no witnesses who stayed around. I don't have his license number. I can't fight him. If he ever had a weapon, I'd be dead, but I don't care. I'm just so angry that this has stopped my entire life, point blank, and all I was doing was sitting in a large, uncrowded parking lot in the middle of the afternoon after a long day at school.
I keep thinking about what I had planned to do when I got home: eat supper (the take out); take a shower; work on my formal evaluation for the Vice Principal, which is due, now; work on my five year professional plan for my Mentor, which is due, tomorrow; correct about fifty final essay tests for my two senior classes and my two sophomore classes; pick up my meds; iron clothes for tomorrow; pay bills...then BOOM! Nothing will get done, now. Now, all that exists is this mess and all the details that will consume my life until I get the car back...
The guy comes over to where I'm pulling my backpack and papers out of the front seat. A folder of student reports blows open and suddenly there is a snowstorm of essays heading towards Stop and Shop. This white-haired guy chases them down and brings them to me, shaking his head.
"I didn't think you'd feel like chasing down papers right now," he smiles kindly and hands me my work.
I thank him.
Accident-Man mumbles that he's got the cops on his cell.
"Tell them that we need someone right away!" I yell to him.
He communicates with the cops: "Sorry, I can't hear you, the lady is screaming at me--"
"I am NOT screaming!" I yell back, sure I am not screaming. Screaming is fear. Screaming is a strained throat and a high pitched voice and a victim's song. I am yelling. Strongly. Hoping the cop hears me and sends a patrol vehicle soon.
The Accident-Man shuts down his cell and turns to me. I see he's not White in a very White town. I see a "Baby on Board" yellow placard in the back window of his blue monster truck. I see his pressed clothes and the line up of his hair and his beat up hands. He's a thirty-something Dad, I'm sure.
This truck is his pride and joy. He is probably scared and decidedly embarrassed.
I take a breath.
(The more I look at the car the more I feel sick. No one ever needs an accident, but to have it happen while I'm sitting, parked, during the three busiest weeks of my first year at Gardner High, when I need my wheels all day, every day and if I have to ask for any more favors or special consideration I may not have a job...they have fired people for less. I am the class advisor. I have to make these events. I have to show up, on time, every day, and stay late, almost every day. No way can I call in to deal with paper work and police reports and body shops and insurance agents... )
Accident-Man looks at me, still clutching his beat-up phone.
I take another breath.
"Man, look, you have a baby, right? How would you feel if your wife and baby were in your truck and someone hit them? You'd be yelling, too, right? Can you understand why I'm upset? If your truck was wrecked, how would you get to work? You get why I'm mad and not 'chill'?"
He looks down at his feet. "Sorry."
I lean against the bent hood of my Subaru. He leans against the monster wheel of his truck.
"AT and T made a mistake on my bill and wiped out my bank account, today. I was upset when I came out..." he trails off, not looking at me.
I breathe again. (I get it. I've had these troubles, too, running to make a payment on something, keeping the lights on or the phone connected or even the rent. Killing myself to get there on time to keep my life intact and honorable and worth living--and having some glitch in a system which doesn't care. ...or not enough money till the next paycheck to cover the extra service fees...going away depressed, frustrated, furious at a system that rewards nothing but the almighty dollar ...I've been there.)
"AT and T sucks...I changed servers because of that, " I honestly tell him.
"Yeah...like, I've got nothing in my bank account right now because of THEIR MISTAKE! I guess I wasn't looking when I pulled out...sorry." Accident -Man sounds human for the first time.
I hold out my hand. "What's your name?"
"Mario," he says, giving me his.
"I'm Karen."
"Want me to try the cops, again?" he asks, sheepishly.
"Yeah, please. I've got to get home," I say, sighing, wondering who I should call to come and pick me up.
The cop arrives, sirens blaring. People begin pointing at us in the parking lot. I can see it now, plastered on The Gardner News...another embarrassment for this aging teacher.
The cop is nice. Cool. Almost too cool. Gives me that "Man-talking-to-older-woman-about-a -car" attitude which I don't need right now. I know that fiber glass and these Japanese cars come apart easily...I also know that the entire front end and God knows what else under it has been wrecked and with this older model, might not be able to be repaired...and I won't get enough money to buy newer wheels...then what? But the cop files the report, takes photos, calls a tow truck and when I ask for a ride home, agrees. In the back of the cop car.
He takes Mario's info and mine, calls it in.
When I get in front of the house, my neighbors are gawking. The cop unlocks the back seat and helps me to the door--as if he picked me up, drunk, at the prom. "Have a good night--"then he catches himself.
"Have a better night!" He laughs as he roars off.
Five days before my birthday.
I pray the awful thing has already happened.
(Tonight, I will practice tonglen: for Mario. For myself.)
Hahahahhahahhahaha. The Universe laughed.
Sitting in my Subaru, waiting for an early take-out dinner at the local Eastern Fusion Palace to be wrapped to go, I notice a burly young guy come out of the AT and T outlet and climb into his monster truck, which is parked right next to me. He peels out way too fast and BOOM!!!!! The front end of Tortuga-the-sea-green Subaru is spread underneath his giant back tires, glass and wires and everything fiberglass strewn in all directions! I lean on the horn, which still works, and he stops, dead.
I am so furious! No airbags have gone off. I have no whiplash or pain, but the entire front of my beloved little New England car is squashed and smashed on the macadam! And the guy cooly hops out of his gargantuan cab, phone in hand, full of cool machismo, telling me "Be calm, Lady. I got insurance. It will pay ..."
"Hey!" I am not screaming but I am yelling at him, yeah! Damn straight! "I was parked! I didn't even have the motor running! YOU were parked, right next to me! It's broad daylight! No other cars on either side of us, man! How could you NOT SEE me?????"
"I don't know, be cool, Lady. I told you, the insurance will pay. I'm not gonna give you any trouble!" He holds up his hands and gives me "The Big Man Look".
"Yeah they'll pay! You hit a parked car with the driver in the driver's seat! You took off my front end! You smeared it all over the lot! Anyway, it's not about money! I'm a teacher! This is the week of final exams! I have a prom to chaperone next week! I have two elderly parents at home and now I've got no wheels! No wheels! How am I going to get to work? How am I going to get home? Pick up prescriptions? Groceries? My car is full of stuff for my Senior graduates! I've got kayak paddles and backpacks and hiking stuff in the back of the car! It doesn't look like much, but it's a good car and look at it! What am I going to do, now? I don't even have a ride home!" I feel myself shaking.
I think of the blood pressure meds I didn't pick up this morning, believing I'd do it before heading back to Maple Street...
"I'm sorry, just, well, you want me to call a cop?" The guy drops a little of the attitude.
"Yeah, I want a cop, here, and your insurance stuff, Man. Get it out." As usual, I am not afraid. I am not tearful. I am pissed off. I am furious. I feel taller than this guy. My mind knows, if he wants to drive off, I've got no witnesses who stayed around. I don't have his license number. I can't fight him. If he ever had a weapon, I'd be dead, but I don't care. I'm just so angry that this has stopped my entire life, point blank, and all I was doing was sitting in a large, uncrowded parking lot in the middle of the afternoon after a long day at school.
I keep thinking about what I had planned to do when I got home: eat supper (the take out); take a shower; work on my formal evaluation for the Vice Principal, which is due, now; work on my five year professional plan for my Mentor, which is due, tomorrow; correct about fifty final essay tests for my two senior classes and my two sophomore classes; pick up my meds; iron clothes for tomorrow; pay bills...then BOOM! Nothing will get done, now. Now, all that exists is this mess and all the details that will consume my life until I get the car back...
The guy comes over to where I'm pulling my backpack and papers out of the front seat. A folder of student reports blows open and suddenly there is a snowstorm of essays heading towards Stop and Shop. This white-haired guy chases them down and brings them to me, shaking his head.
"I didn't think you'd feel like chasing down papers right now," he smiles kindly and hands me my work.
I thank him.
Accident-Man mumbles that he's got the cops on his cell.
"Tell them that we need someone right away!" I yell to him.
He communicates with the cops: "Sorry, I can't hear you, the lady is screaming at me--"
"I am NOT screaming!" I yell back, sure I am not screaming. Screaming is fear. Screaming is a strained throat and a high pitched voice and a victim's song. I am yelling. Strongly. Hoping the cop hears me and sends a patrol vehicle soon.
The Accident-Man shuts down his cell and turns to me. I see he's not White in a very White town. I see a "Baby on Board" yellow placard in the back window of his blue monster truck. I see his pressed clothes and the line up of his hair and his beat up hands. He's a thirty-something Dad, I'm sure.
This truck is his pride and joy. He is probably scared and decidedly embarrassed.
I take a breath.
(The more I look at the car the more I feel sick. No one ever needs an accident, but to have it happen while I'm sitting, parked, during the three busiest weeks of my first year at Gardner High, when I need my wheels all day, every day and if I have to ask for any more favors or special consideration I may not have a job...they have fired people for less. I am the class advisor. I have to make these events. I have to show up, on time, every day, and stay late, almost every day. No way can I call in to deal with paper work and police reports and body shops and insurance agents... )
Accident-Man looks at me, still clutching his beat-up phone.
I take another breath.
"Man, look, you have a baby, right? How would you feel if your wife and baby were in your truck and someone hit them? You'd be yelling, too, right? Can you understand why I'm upset? If your truck was wrecked, how would you get to work? You get why I'm mad and not 'chill'?"
He looks down at his feet. "Sorry."
I lean against the bent hood of my Subaru. He leans against the monster wheel of his truck.
"AT and T made a mistake on my bill and wiped out my bank account, today. I was upset when I came out..." he trails off, not looking at me.
I breathe again. (I get it. I've had these troubles, too, running to make a payment on something, keeping the lights on or the phone connected or even the rent. Killing myself to get there on time to keep my life intact and honorable and worth living--and having some glitch in a system which doesn't care. ...or not enough money till the next paycheck to cover the extra service fees...going away depressed, frustrated, furious at a system that rewards nothing but the almighty dollar ...I've been there.)
"AT and T sucks...I changed servers because of that, " I honestly tell him.
"Yeah...like, I've got nothing in my bank account right now because of THEIR MISTAKE! I guess I wasn't looking when I pulled out...sorry." Accident -Man sounds human for the first time.
I hold out my hand. "What's your name?"
"Mario," he says, giving me his.
"I'm Karen."
"Want me to try the cops, again?" he asks, sheepishly.
"Yeah, please. I've got to get home," I say, sighing, wondering who I should call to come and pick me up.
The cop arrives, sirens blaring. People begin pointing at us in the parking lot. I can see it now, plastered on The Gardner News...another embarrassment for this aging teacher.
The cop is nice. Cool. Almost too cool. Gives me that "Man-talking-to-older-woman-about-a -car" attitude which I don't need right now. I know that fiber glass and these Japanese cars come apart easily...I also know that the entire front end and God knows what else under it has been wrecked and with this older model, might not be able to be repaired...and I won't get enough money to buy newer wheels...then what? But the cop files the report, takes photos, calls a tow truck and when I ask for a ride home, agrees. In the back of the cop car.
He takes Mario's info and mine, calls it in.
When I get in front of the house, my neighbors are gawking. The cop unlocks the back seat and helps me to the door--as if he picked me up, drunk, at the prom. "Have a good night--"then he catches himself.
"Have a better night!" He laughs as he roars off.
Five days before my birthday.
I pray the awful thing has already happened.
(Tonight, I will practice tonglen: for Mario. For myself.)
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