Great

Whenever I drive by the ocean, even in the dead of New England winter when the world is cold and gray, I imagine jumping in, submerging my body in icy water, my hair floating behind me like a mermaid. I imagine it peaceful, floating, not scary at all - on the contrary, I welcome it.

That's what I was thinking about when I smashed my car into the sidewalk because I was looking out at the ocean, imagining what it would be like to swim in January.

Outside, a storm is coming. A winter storm, maybe a blizzard, depending on how much snow we get. The snow hasn't started yet, but the sky is that one specific shade of gray that only emerges when it's going to snow real soon.

I manage to pull over. The car seems fine, but the tire is not. I make sure a car isn't whizzing by and then I unbuckle my seatbelt, open the door, and slide out of the driver's seat to examine the damage. It's immediately obvious that I cannot drive home on it, which means I need to get the tire off and the spare on.

I kind of know how to do this, but it's freezing cold and the temperature keeps dropping, and I forgot my gloves this morning. I have my beanie, which I pull farther down over my ears, and I'm wearing my thick coat with the fleece lining, but regardless it's going to take me forever to change this tire and I'm certain I will die of frostbite before I'm able to finish and drive home.

I get back in the car and blast the heat, holding my fingers in front of the vents. I consider calling my dad, but we haven't talked in awhile and I don't think he'll answer or care. My mother knows even less about changing a tire than I do and would tell me to call a tow truck. Henry and I are on a break, or we broke up, I'm not sure which yet, which is why I'm driving to my mother's house now and not the apartment I share with him. 

I decide to call Henry anyway. It rings three times before he answers. "Hello?" he says apprehensively. I know he knows it's me.

"Hey. It's me," I say pointlessly.

"I know."

"Okay." For a second I forget why I called him. "Um, I'm sorry to call you, but I have a flat tire."

Henry doesn't respond. So I go on: "Can you come help me? I promise it won't take long, and then I'll leave you alone forever."

I hear him scoff. "I thought you were a strong independent feminist," he says sarcastically. "Why would you need a man's help if you can do it all by yourself?"

I don't reply right away. "I can't break the lugs," I say softly, hoping to appeal to his sympathy.

"Well, maybe you should join a gym."

"What's that going to do for me now?"

"I can't come anyway," he says.

I'm immediately suspicious. I check the clock in my car. He's been out of work for almost two hours. What could he possibly be doing? "Why?" I ask.

"I'm busy."

"Are you working?"

"No, I'm just busy, and it's none of your damn business."

I roll my eyes. "Meeting someone from The Right Stuff?" I match his sarcasm.

"None of your business."

"Well, don't forget to change the pillowcase after she leaves. I don't want to see that orange concealer shit all over my stuff when I come pick it up."

He hangs up. He'd say I took it too far, I say I didn't take it far enough, and I wonder for the thousandth time how we got here. Regardless, he clearly isn't coming to help me, so I dial my mom's number. I can tell as soon as she answers in her quiet mumbly voice that she's stoned. I roll my eyes at her, even though she can't see me. "I have a flat tire," I tell her.

"Oh no," she says. "Where are you?"

"Near the water."

"Are you okay? Can you sit in the car until someone gets there? Did you even call anyone yet?"

"Yes, I'm fine, and no I haven't called anyone, I called you."

"Can Henry help you?"

"I think we broke up again."

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey," Mom says, and I can tell her sympathy is genuine. She sighs, "I don't know what happened to him."

"Joe Rogan," I answer.

Mom groans. "Ugh. That man." She takes a sip of something, probably water with lemon slices. "Makes me want to throw up."

"I know," I said, anxious to move the conversation along. 

"I'll call Triple A for you," she says. She has a way of changing the subject abruptly. "I'll call you back and let you know how long they'll be."

"Thanks," I said, and we hang up. While I wait for her to call me back, I scroll social media on my phone, but it's out of habit, not interest. I'm trying to find a song on Spotify when I notice a car pulling up behind me.

I'm immediately alert. I make sure my doors are locked and hold my phone tight in my hand. 

The other car is a big, dark blue SUV. At first, nothing happens, but then the passenger side door opens and a woman gets out. She's older, boomer if I had to guess, on the heavier side with bottle blonde hair and medium brown roots that desperately need to be colored.

She approaches my window, and I can tell that she wants to make sure I see she isn't a threat, showing me her empty hands. I roll down my window just enough to speak and hear. "Hi, I'm sorry if I startled you," she says. "My husband saw your tire all smashed up and we wanted to make sure you were okay or if you needed to call someone."

My phone chimes. I glance down, a text from my mom: They said it'll be over an hour because of the weather.

"I'm fine, thanks," I say. "I called Triple A, they'll be here in a hour or so."

"An hour!" The woman is incensed on my behalf. "That's ridiculous. My husband can have that tire changed in ten minutes. I'll be right back."

Outside, it's barely begun to snow, the tiniest flakes beginning to float down from the sky. I see the man in the driver's seat of the blue SUV get out, so I hop out of my car again too.

"Hi there," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Steve."

I smile and shake his hand. "Nice to meet you." And then I notice his red hat, with the words Make America Great Again stitched in white. My stomach drops. I can't tell if he sees me notice it, and my immediate response is to avoid potential conflict. "You don't have to do this, I feel terrible," I say.

"Don't worry about it at all," he says. "Accidents happen. I do this for a living. I'll have you on your way in just a few minutes."

Steve got to work on taking the busted tire off my car. I stood there with his wife or girlfriend, feeling awkward. I have my standard "I'm uncomfortable" posture, with my arms crossed protectively over my chest. I realize that I'm bracing myself for something. For what, I don't know. Conflict? A fight? For them to berate me? Then I realize they don't know. They have no idea that I'm not one of them. There's nothing on me or my car that indicates my political affiliation. I feel like I'm passing as someone I'm not. The wife or girlfriend asks me, "Do you live nearby at least?"

"Yeah," I said, "only about ten minutes from here."

"Well, I'm glad we spotted you," she said, looking up at the sky, "because it looks like it's gonna start snowing here any second." She has a slight southern accent.

My mind is blank. I stare out at the silver ocean; I like how wild it is in the winter. I have no idea what to say. I've never been great at small talk, and it's very apparent right now.

"How's it coming, honey?" the wife or girlfriend calls to Steve.

Steve has my dead tire off already and is putting the spare on. "Almost done," he says.

"Thank you so much," I say again, trying to be polite but unable to smile with my teeth.

The woman is peering at me more closely. "Are you alright, honey? You don't look so good," she says.

I'm immediately self conscious, my hands flying up to touch my hair and face. "I'm fine," I reply.

"Are you sure?" she asks again.

I nod. It's January 22 and I'm already so exhausted I could collapse. This facade that isn't a facade. "Just a long day at work," I say.

"Mm," she says, with knowing sympathy. I wonder if she actually knows what real work feels like.

I desperately don't want to have these assumptions, but they are there nonetheless: that anyone who is happy right now is evil, stupid, heartless. But that can't be completely true, because these people, this guy in a red MAGA hat, pulled over to help me, a stranger, on the side of road. How bad could they be?

I'm looking for some sort of peace from this whole interaction, but I feel I'm having an out of body experience, seeing myself from above. It's snowing more now, thick, steady flakes landing on my jacket and hat.

Steve stands up and says, "You're all set. Good to go."

I try to smile again and thank them profusely, and they tell me drive home safe. I wonder if I came off cold, but then I think they probably didn't notice, probably thought I was rattled by my flat tire.

As I pull away, back onto the road, I watch in my rearview mirror to see if they follow me. They don't. They take the next exit, and I keep driving home.