Betty

“Betty?” I pause. Double take. No way. 

I backpedal, hesitant because it's just after 10pm and I am not in the safest neighborhood. I pause beside her. She seems frozen underneath the harsh white streetlight. 

I peek inside her untinted windows, only slightly aware of the fact that I look like I am casing this car right now. There’s the crack on the pleather dashboard, induced by too many days in the California sunshine. Her sky blue paint is also sun-faded, but besides that she looks completely unaltered. 

“That’s my Betty,” I say aloud. 

“Um. What?” I hear a voice behind me. Surprised. Scared? Female. 

My face grows warm. I straighten myself up and turn to see who just caught me talking to my ex-car. 

Silhouetted against the haze of the evening, I can tell she is beautiful. I can’t read her expression from where I stand, but I can see that she is shorter than me. She clutches a black purse in one hand. The other is poised strangely. I wish I could see her clearly, but her face is hidden in the shadow of the alley. 

I take a step forward, realizing that I should probably say something before she totally freaks. I squint, smile, notice a moment too late that her right hand looks weird because she’s holding some kind of tube in it. It's pointed at me. 

Before I am hit with the acrid liquid square in the face (she’s got incredible aim, I think), we both yell at the same time. 

“MACE!?” I scream because I recognize the item. I don’t know why she screams it. 

“This is my car,” I manage to sputter out after a string of curses. Everything is burning. My eyes. My nose. My mouth. My pores. My entire head. 

“No, sir,” she says from a distance. Her voice sounds pretty calm, given the situation. She even added “sir”- I don’t know what to make of this. 

“This is my car,” she continues. “And you’re gonna get the hell away from it before the cops get here.” 

“Was,” I manage, vainly wiping my eyes. This seems to worsen the whole situation, but I keep wiping. Wow I am an idiot. 

“Betty was my car.” I am on my knees now. My eyes are shut,  so I can only hope I am facing her as I explain. 

“Betty?” She sounds closer. 

“Yeah… That’s what I named her. I sold her two years ago. I’m sorry - I just… I never got to say goodbye.” I must look like a lunatic. “Wait, did you call the cops?”

There’s an awkward pause. I can’t think straight. My head is on fire.  

“His name is Sam now,” she says quietly.  

Sam. Why would she name her Sam? With that paint job? She is clearly a girl. Maybe it's short for Samantha. 

Sam is also my name. 

My head begins to spin. Is this fate? Did the universe spin just so that this mysterious, mace-wielding princess and I could meet beside my old car? And how did she think of Sam of all names? I never met her. Never introduced myself. I put out an ad on craigslist and someone wired me money. I left Betty in a parking lot with the keys on the passenger side tire. 

I am feeling dizzy now, and I know it’s probably the  combination of the mace and this weird rabbit hole of memories my brain dove into after Mace Girl said my name. 

All is quiet for a long moment. The heat in my face seems to be slowly subsiding. I wonder if Princess Mace has left. I hear the quiet click of heels on the pavement. They are coming from my left. I flinch, awaiting another attack. 

“Sam?”

I turn to face the sound of her crystalline voice. 

“Do I know you?” I am trying to open my eyes now, scanning my surroundings through blurred, burning vision. I can’t hold them open for more than a second. 

I feel a small hand on my shoulder and flich again.  

“Don’t-,” she says. “Sorry. I won’t spray you… again.” 

I still can’t see her, but I turn to face her all the same. She takes my hand in hers. I feel small, cool fingers pressing something metal into my hand. 

“This was under the driver’s seat,” she says. “Not sure why I kept it. Here.” 

I feel the object and recognize it immediately. 

My mind blasts backward as if strapped into the passenger seat of a tricked out Delorean. I see an image of collegiate me. Betty and I are parked under a streetlight. My head rests on her steering wheel, too heavy to move. I pick up my keys to start up the engine. I notice that one of my key chains is missing. It's the little surfboard with my name painted on it. Emily gave it to me after her trip to Hawaii. The trip where she met Evan. Two weeks before she dumped me and moved out there to be with him. It's probably for the best that I’ve lost the stupid keychain. Now it will just remind me of her. I am too heartbroken to look for it, and I’m glad that I don’t have to go through the pain of removing it from the keyring myself. 

The sound of quiet heels clacking away from me jolts me back to the present. She’s leaving. 

“Wait,” I call. 

In response I hear the click of Betty’s doors being unlocked. The opening and slamming of the driver’s side door. Betty’s engine turns. It’s going to take three tries before she runs. 

Sure enough, three twists of the key later, I hear Betty purr to life. 

The burning in my eyes is beginning to subside just a little. I pry them open enough to see Betty and Queen Mace roll away. 

I feel the little wooden surfboard keychain in my hand and I chuck it as hard as I can. My eyes are closed again, so I don’t know where it flies. I hear it land somewhere on the pavement. 

It’s a pretty stupid thought, but as I pick myself up off the sidewalk and begin to feel my way around, I wonder. 

Will we ever meet again?