— I sit there for a second, as cars THUNDER by me … the speed of the cars on the freeway shake my parked car as though the Greek Gods of Old have a hold of my vehicle. I cannot believe this. It takes me a second to even comprehend what has happened. Here is where I immediately went, emotionally: “What the hell … WHAT THE HELL, GOD? WHY?? You KNOW my problems with driving here the last time I was here … WHY THIS NOW? AM I CURSED? ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME SOMETHING? ARE YOU TRYING TO REMIND ME THAT LA IS NOT FOR ME? WHY ME? I JUST BROKE ALEX’S CAR. I HAVE BEEN IN HER CAR FOR 15 MINUTES AND I BROKE IT. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD.” Then came the retroactive fear. I began to realize just how narrowly I escaped something truly awful. “I could have died. I could have just died right now. If the brakes had gone 45 seconds earlier … I would be dead right now.” Then I thought about how much I cherished my life, how much I cherished the breath going in and out of my lungs, what a miracle life is … I need to make some changes in my life. I need to live every day to the fullest. This is all borrowed time. But meanwhile, weaving in and out of this (as my car is being shaken by Zeus Himself) was: “I BROKE ALEX’S CAR. I HAVE BROKEN HER CAR.”
— I also breathe a prayer of thanks to the cell phone gods – because I got rid of my stupid Sprint service – where I only got connection in a 3 mile radius of my stupid apartment … I changed my service, and now my phone works anywhere. I know this is going to be a long crazy day. All my plans now scrapped. No Cashel, no birthday party. I call Alex. She answers, and I can tell she knows that something has happened. My voice is high, and unhinged – I can feel the panic in my own voice. “Alex … the brakes died … I’m on the 101.” Alex starts SCREAMING. I can see her pacing like a lunatic, with her damn hair-extension scrunchie coming loose … “WHAT? WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OKAY???” “Alex, I am so so sorry … I broke your car … I drove it for 15 minutes and I broke it …” She is hollering like a Wagnerian opera diva. “WHERE ARE YOU? I’M GETTING IN A CAB RIGHT NOW!” “I’m on the 101 –” She goes up an octave. “YOU’RE ON THE 101? OH MY GOD. ARE YOU OKAY?” “I’m in the breakdown lane … I’m just past the Hollywood Bowl exit … I have the hazards on ….” “I’LL BE THERE AS SOON AS I CAN!” She hangs up on me, and I can feel the frenzied WHIRLWIND of activity on her end – I can see her, in my mind, racing through the apartment, putting her cell phone in her I Love Lucy bag, putting on a sweatshirt, calling a cab … a veritable Tasmanian Devil.
— I call my brother. He’s shooting a commercial, he’s on the Universal lot … I was supposed to go pick up Cashel and take him to the party. I inform him, brokenly, that the brakes have gone. I am fine. But I am on the freeway, standing in the dirt beside the breakdown lane … and could he have one of his roommates walk Cashel to the party … My brother is … well. He’s awesome. He can’t believe it. He said, “Sheila, look at it this way … at least you got it out of the way … I’m so glad you’re okay … Don’t worry about anything … I’ll tell Mike … I’ll have Maria pick up Cashel … it’s no problem … and if you need me to chauffeur you guys around later, I should be off of this job by 9.” “Okay! I’m fine! Don’t worry!” I shout at him over the thunder of the freeway traffic.
— I wait. It is a beautiful day. I look up at the hills above. There are palm trees on top. The sky is a blinding blue. The air is mild and spring-like. Yes, I am standing in the dirt on the side of the 101, and yes, I broke Alex’s car, and yes God has cursed me by having this happen after my last debacle driving here … but damn, that sky is blue, and damn, I love those palm trees.
— I wait. Maria calls me. Her voice is humorous and kind. “So … Sheila … I hear you’re having a little problem …” I shout into my phone: “YEAH … THE BRAKES DIED … ON THE 101 …” I keep thinking about what would have happened if the brakes had died a minute earlier when I was going 70. It is just too awful to contemplate. I think about my parents, and my sisters, and my brother, and Cashel … and how they will never know how much I love them, and how … I still don’t feel like I tell them how much I love them … I don’t tell them this enough. I could have been dead. I also thought about my apartment and how I need to vacuum. If I had died, someone would have come in to clean it out … and maybe woudl have thought: “Damn. Did she NEVER vacuum?” I make a promise to vacuum my rugs more often. Just in case I die in a fiery mesh.
— I wait. Nobody stops to help me. The traffic has now let up and cars and semis hurtle by at breakneck speed.
— I squint at every cab that goes by. Wondering if that will be Alex …
— Finally, I see the cab cutting across lanes of traffic … I know it’s her … I can see her bouncy hair-extension crunchy in silhouette … The cab pulls over and Alex emerges from it – wearing sunglasses, high-top sneakers – she has her arms out – and we run at each other – on the breakdown lane – and hug like lunatics. We hug and scream and hold each other. (To quote 40 year old virgin: “You know how I know you guys are gay? Because you are holding each other … ever so gently …”) Actually, Alex and I are not holding each other, ever so gently, we are hugging FEROCIOUSLY. And shouting. We are both in a total and utter panic. Which makes us giddy. We start to laugh. We then laugh so hard that silence reigns between us for 5 minutes, as we lean against the broken car, gasping for breath, tears of laughter streaming down our faces.
— The cabbie drives off, leaving the lunatic laughing girls on the side of the 101.
Oh Sheila, I’m glad you’re ok. But the vacuum thing is hysterical.
This can’t be happening. I feel as if it’s happening right now. I’m so psyched to read the rest. It’s like not having to wait for the next Harry Potter novel.
Ooops! I read part one yesterday and forgot it was Alex’s car. How awful!