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The Boyfriend and I brought my car to the muffler place last night. Poor Supermetro, it�s been sitting idle in front of the condo for over a week now, waiting for me to have time to get it fixed. It looked so sad when we pulled up last night, neglected, lonesome. The Boyfriend asked if I wanted to drive back roads or highway to get to the car place. I didn�t think the Supermetro could take the highway, what with the hanging pipe and all. The noise it makes while running right now is horrific. Attempt any speed above 35 mph and it becomes deafening.
The Boyfriend is a very aggressive driver, and especially when I have a disabled car, that makes him hard to follow. The first time he drove through a late yellow light, it turned red just as I approached it, but I kept driving regardless. At the next two, I waited for green. He pulled over and waited for me. I almost caused several accidents in my loud, no-pickup car, trying to drive and give him the chance to pull out in front of me again.
By the time we got to the muffler place, I was near tears, angry and frustrated. The buzzing noise from the engine had made my whole head vibrate. I heard the pipe hit the ground with an ugly metal scrape three times in the drive over. I was mad at the Boyfriend for driving like I wasn�t behind him, reliant on him to get me where I needed to go. And I was worried about the Supermetro. He opened my door and found me crying in the driver�s seat.
I know part of my mood came from my lack of sleep the night before, what with my terrorist and airplane dreams, but I had just hit overwhelmed. I wanted to go home�to MY house, crawl into bed and pull the covers up over my head. Instead, I got into the truck with the Boyfriend and went back to the condo. I can�t say that I was very good company. Usually, he can manage to pull me out of my funky moods. Last night, nothing would touch it. He eventually gave up and just went to sleep.
I couldn�t explain the root reason I�m worried about the car. I�ve had it for a little more than two years. It used to belong to my friend Brendan, the Artboy�s roommate. The Artboy brought it to his father�s garage (his dad�s a mechanic and runs a small-town full-service garage outside the city) and brought it to Supermetro status. I paid Brendan a ridiculously small amount for the car (equal to his month�s rent), then paid the Artboy�s dad an equally small amount for the repairs. I paid cost for the parts. The labor was all done by the Artboy. It was in that period after I�d met the Boyfriend, when the Artboy was trying to bring me back into his life. The car was built out of all that was good in our relationship. It�s the last tangible piece of the Artboy I have.
It�s more than just a car.
Sometimes, I feel like my whole life is an exercise in futility. Or maybe I�m just overtired still. Maybe it�s the holiday season closing in on me, always sure to make me feel the things I�ve lost more sharply than the things I still have.
I wish the muffler guy would call.
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