How My Car Taught Me a Lesson About Love

My car was tripin’. There’s something jacked up about that feeling you get when you’re blind sided by a non-responsive, non-reactionary, non-starting ass, normally working ass vehicle in the middle of cold ass Colorado weather. No there is something really jacked up about the anger you feel when your normally functioning vehicle does not start at the end of a work day–a work day that consists of slaving for a job that makes you want to kill yourself-after you kill everyone else of course. So the story goes; I’m leaving work. It’s cold. It’s 5’o clock traffic. I’m hungry. I have to urinate, but I hate using public restrooms so I’m willing to wait until I get home. Even when I know that due to traffic I’ll be holding my bladder for at least an hour. I’m cool with that. I mean I’m not cool with that, but I hate using public restrooms, I’m certain I’m not alone in this. I climb into the car, swing my door shut, plug in my aux cord to my iPhone, shove my crooked worn Chevy cavalier key into the ignition and got nothing. No turn over, no rough hum or  slight flash of lights, just pure nothingness. My heart sank. Shit.

Blind sided.

No matter how much I prayed for the Lord to lay his hands on my starter, the ignition would not give a miracle. No matter how hard I pumped the gas pedal while turning the key over. Nothing. I felt a flame of freak outs burst in my chest.

Flustered by embarrassment, as shallow as it may sound, all I could think about was how my co-workers were coming outside hopping into their millennial 2000-something year vehicles, while my Old Betsy A.K.A  my broke down car remained subdued. No one wants to save me.

Careful, I tried not to make eye contact with any of the people exiting the building because I knew they all just wanted to get home. They didn’t want to play captain save-a-hoe, white savior, or the good Samaritan. They just wanted to get out of the cold and into their cars. Trust me, I get it. I grabbed my phone and called for help, the same way I did when I got my heart broken and sobbed to my bestie about who did it. I called for assistance. Only, she couldn’t fix it…and neither could my mechanic..he said it was after hours and that I would need to have it towed.

Sitting in my car, I watched the sky darken before me, and all I could think about was how familiar this feeling was. The unanticipated break up with someone/something that was once so consistent. Shivering in my car I reflected on the same chill I had when my ex told me that I just wasn’t cutting it anymore. When I was blind sided. When I had just made love to him the day before. When I had allowed him to pelvic thrust me into a deep slumber. When I thought we were more than our flesh holes, when I thought we were more than insertables (yes, this word is made up). When I thought he would always start up for me. Keep me warm. Oh Chevy, Cavalier, I thought we were better than that. We had a great two year run and now the unforeseen circumstances has me in tears. I sobbed. Not just for me but for all the broken vehicle owners out there. I shed tears for all the folks who didn’t ask for much, no luxury, no futuristic shit, just consistency, and support.

My heart had broke down. No matter how many sex driven men panted like wolves at my pictures on the Internet and blew my phone up with promises of deep satisfaction I still felt undesirable. No matter how many post cards I got in the mail that told me I was pre-approved for a loan on a new car I still felt unresolved-unready to move forward into something new that would cost another investment. I sat in the cold, waiting for the tow truck. I shook violently, using my half numb fingers to plug in my exes phone number. I met his answering machine, who, by the way, I had become very close friends with over the last few days. I had begun to bond with the feelings of regret and obsessiveness. Crying angrily I kept trying to rev up the engine like something was going to change. Replaying every romantic moment we shared in my head, I was fueled to turn my key harder and press on the gas longer with more vigor as if my energy would be enough to ignite the sleeping vehicle. Memories of my ex laughing softly at my jokes mocked me. He laughed at my jokes. He always laughed at my freakin’ jokes. He thought I was funny as shit, how could I see this coming? The same way I didn’t see my car breaking down. The same way I revved up my car for work that morning and it allowed me to enjoy my routine of controversial podcasts and high blasting heat without interruption. No sputters, no strange car body language, and just like my man-no check engine signs. It just broke down, dying for an explanation; I rested my forehead on the steering wheel cursing to myself. There may be a reason for everything but you may not always know it.

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