Nice Ride

Dust from the passenger seat airbag settled on the wispy hairs along my arms, which still stretched toward the wheel. Everything outside of my car remained the same as it had fifteen seconds ago--cars passing each other, turning left into the Marshalls-Target-Panera-Shoe Carnival plaza, cars parked in front of Chick-fil-A and Great Clips, cars waiting in line at Starbucks. I thought I’d just wait by the side of the road and watch cars pass my red Camaro and someone else’s blue something while I figured out what happened in those fifteen seconds. 

First, I’d figure out what was dripping noisily against the rubber passenger side mat. I found my lungs and turned my head. A puddle of glass and Chick-fil-A diet lemonade leaked over the side of the seat, forming a new puddle next to my newly bejeweled bag of grilled nuggets and waffle fries.

Drip, drip, drip. “That could be an IV bag,” I thought. 

A radio host was blabbing in my ear, but later, I couldn’t tell you if it was a man, woman, dog, or donkey.

A man approached my window and knocked lightly on it, nearly pressed against my car to avoid getting skid-marked by the passing ones. His lips moved, but I wasn’t trying to listen and said, “What?”

He made a rolling motion with his hand, so I rolled down my window, thinking it was funny that he didn’t just walk to the one that was shattered.

“Are you alright?” He wore a large brown coat with about ninety-five pockets in front. He practically had to touch his toes to get his head level with mine. “I called the police. They should be here soon…”

“Okay.”

“You alright?”

“No--yeah.” I exhaled. “I think I’m gonna step out.”

“Yeah, sure! Do you need help?”

“No.” I need you to back off, Bucko. I wondered if his mammoth jacket would smell like whiskey. He wandered to the frosted curb next to his blue SUV, slipping his phone out of his jeans pocket and making a call.

I walked around my car, sad because it looked so sad and smooshed. This was clearly not my fault, though, and I hoped it wouldn’t hurt my Kate Spade wallet too much. 

My scarf was somewhere in the glass-lemonade puddle, and even with a knit sweater and insulated vest, I was shivering, holding my fuzzy collar against my face with cracked, red hands. I leaned against the back of my car, watching the man approach me like he wasn’t sure what to do but wasn’t used to not knowing what to do. I tried to shield my eyes from the sun, but the reflection on the thin layer of snow on the ground was just as bright.

“I feel really bad,” he said. “Normally I’d keep my mouth shut in case I could play it off as the other person’s fault, but we both know…”

“You’re at fault.” I couldn’t believe he was admitting it so quickly, though he did look sort of miserable with his slumped shoulders and squinted eyes.

“Yeah.” He hung his head, like he wasn’t used to being the only one to blame, then gave me a sideways glance. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You can pick the glass out of my Chick-fil-A.”

“As tempting as that sounds...”

Unhappy with the rudeness that had been in my voice and uncomfortably aware of his discomfort, I laughed. “No, it’s fine. Your insurance will do everything I need, hopefully.”

The ears under his brown crew cut were strawberry-red, and I thought about all the times my mom told my sister and I to “put on a hat!” before we trudged to school in freezing temperatures. Then I thought about all the times we unbuckled in her beige Buick to reach for a new toy or push each other and she yelled for us to put our seat belts back on. I was glad I remembered the latter today.

A passing car honked at another, and I saw clouds of my breath a little more frequently.

“I’m Danny,” the man said.

“Lucy.” I pretended to look toward Starbucks when he offered his hand.

“My ex-wife’ll get a kick out of this.” He looked at me sideways again, as if wishing for me to give him more of a reaction. “She told me not to buy a new car the same year our second son was born. I was actually on my way to pick up my sons from her house. Luckily our oldest answered and I told him what happened. I told him I’d still get them tonight if their mom can’t drive them to my place. ‘You ever been in an Uber?’ I said. ‘Today might be your lucky day!’”

When he finished, I grunted, not giving two flying wagons about the ex-wife of someone who inconvenienced the heck out of my life. Who could have ended my life, or seriously injured me, if the wheel wasn’t on the left side!

I was about to call the police, wondering if he really did, when flashing lights rounded the gas station on the corner. Danny wandered back to his car, where a short and stocky cop stopped to talk to him. If the cop leaned in a little more, they’d look like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito in Twins. 

I relived the accident for the graying cop who talked to me as if I interrupted his bubble bath. Just as the last vessels in my middle toes froze over, he said it was okay for me to leave and go straight home, “if it’s drivable.” I decided to take it as an anti-assumption of my femininity rather than indifference.

“Lucy!” Danny jogged over, and I tried not to glare at him. “Are you sure I can’t do anything for you? I could give you a lift somewhere, or...”

I was starting to think this guy had a few too many cobwebs in his attic. “No, thank you, Danny. I’ll be just fine.”

“At least…let me take you to dinner, sometime.”

“Dinner?” Was I hearing this right? His brown eyes were glassy from the wind, and the way he shifted his weight was distracting. “Did you forget that neither of us will have cars for who knows how long--because of you, I should add?”

“I’m sure we’ll get rentals.” He raised his eyebrows and finally stopped fidgeting.

“That is…so not really the point. You wrecked my car. And you’re asking me to go to dinner with you. You. Wrecked. My car. Passenger side,” I clapped my hands, “smashed. If it was the driver’s side I’d be gurneying away right now. You shouldn’t even be talking to me. I shouldn’t be talking to you.” I crossed my arms and frowned at his shoulder. “Asshole!”

Man, it felt good to say it, but my cheeks and chin thawed in an instant. I felt a little sick and a little scared, expecting him to balance the damage to my car with damage to my face. When I finally looked at him, he was trying not to smile and losing.

“So you’ll let me know?” 

#

“The nerve!” Terri snorted. “And then what’d you do?” she asked, popping black olives into her mouth via toothpick. I threw a couple bay leaves into a large pot of bright red spaghetti sauce.

“I said I’d let him know. And he put his name and number in my phone.”

“You didn’t!” She leaned over my kitchen island. Her eyes were almost as wide as her silver hoop earrings. “You aren’t actually considering it!”

I stirred the sauce, careful not to let it splash.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Terri!”

“Don’t ‘Terri’ me! There’s only two reasons this man wants to take you to dinner. One: he’s a creep. Two: he’s got some kind of obsessive, balance-of-nature compulsion and his subconscious won’t let him rest until he attempts to repay you for the accidental wrong he’s done you.”

“Or…he accidentally smashed into the passenger side of a very attractive woman and didn’t want to let the opportunity slip.” I clicked a timer off seconds before it blew and drained a pot of linguine in the sink. The steam swirled in front of Terri’s face, and I felt like I was talking to the Wizard of Oz--for more than one reason.

“Hm. Well we know that’s a fact, but we don’t know what his head’s like.”

“So! That’s why I should find out, right?”

She sipped from a glass of red wine and left a curve of red lipstick on the edge. “He wrecked your car, Luc.”

“But--”

“Ah ah ah, no buts.”

“Terri, listen.” I dropped the spoon in the sauce and turned to her. She raised her eyebrows. “It was just so out of the ordinary, I had to--I mean, I have to figure out more about this guy now. And…”

“And?”

I fingered the snowflake charm around my wine glass. “He was kinda--really--cute.”

“Kinda-really cute,” she scoffed. “What’s his name again?”

“Danny Mastro.”

I knew she was looking him up on Facebook, but I picked up the spoon and kept my eyes on the red whirlpool I was making, waiting for her reaction, wondering myself what kind of pictures he decided to show his friends and stalkers.

Terri blew air out of her nose and tilted her head of long black hair. “So, future Mrs. Mastro...” She looked at me and grinned. “I heard of a great new restaurant with a lakeside view, called Honeysuckle Hill.”

#

On my third date with Danny, I wore a long-sleeved purple velvet dress with a V-neck two inches lower than my imitation diamond necklace. After I heard his car pull into the driveway, but before I heard the doorbell, I peeked through the curtains at a window adjacent to my front porch. Under the yellow porchlight and the glow of a string of Christmas lights, Danny shifted his weight on his feet, wearing that heavy, pocketed jacket that I first saw him in. But his hands were stuffed in khakis, and a navy blue collar licked the ends of his hair. His breath materialized through his smile.

I threw on my coat, keeping it unbuttoned, and made the door dizzy. He soaked me with his eyes, and I couldn’t break my smile. Shampooing and conditioning, trimming your lawn, putting on a dress, curling your hair, painting your face and knowing you look hot to the one who matters is a new definition of pleasure.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said.

“Hey.” I closed the door behind me and shivered.

“Don’t you mean ‘Hey, asshole’?” He kissed my cheek and took my hand. 

“Very funny. Asshole.”

It wasn’t until I plopped into his passenger seat that I noticed the absence of cloth cleaner and leather softener that makes “smoke-free rental car” a possible label and realized it was Danny’s own car.

I locked my seatbelt but tightened my hands around it, over my chest.

“You okay?” Danny asked, tucking his chin.

“Yes!” I let go and turned to him, moving my eyes from the glowing dashboard buttons to his eyes, where the glow reflected. 

“I never said it, but thanks. For going on a date with me. It made everything worth it. Easy for me to say, right? My fault!” He winked. “But I’m glad I ran into you, Lucy. Sorry it couldn’t have just been with a handful of books on the way to second period.”

“Yes, that is too bad, isn’t it. It’s too bad, but if I had the choice, I wouldn’t want anyone else to wreck my car. It’s your fault I like you so much.”

He grinned and turned on a song.

“By the way,” I said, laughing to release my nerves, “nice ride.” I leaned until the seat belt stopped me, and the sunroof became our mistletoe.