On what I'm pretty sure was my 23rd birthday I went wearing the most annoying pair of Keds you could imagine. I tried searching all over the internet for a picture of these shoes, but I guess Keds doesn't want a record of canvas low-tops with laces entirely covered in primary colored letters that don't spell a damn thing.
I wore these shoes, in any event. If I can find them I'll take a picture, certainly they weren't thrown away. They resulted in several phone numbers being handed over to me that night. They also worked other nights. I swear: these shoes had hypnotic powers.
One of the guys I met that night was less my type, but really cute still. We went out a couple of times and he seemed pretty decent. He was generous with compliments and though he didn't make me laugh on his own, his reaction to the funny things I'd say compounded my laughter, I'll take that. He was thrilled with my thesaurus-as-wallet technique and said he found my quirks to be endearing. SOLD! (In retrospect maybe I should have raised my standards...)
His parents lived in the suburbs, which helped too. He was going to be out visiting them and asked if I'd like to go out. He had their car for the evening, still I ended up driving to their house. We took their car out and somehow ended up in the parking lot of Kinkos in King of Prussia. As we were leaving he backed up--too fast and too hard-into a cement pedestal that supports one of those REALLY TALL parking lot lights. He pulled forward and, I think, backed into it again. Then he jumped out of the car and started to freak out. Hard.
I got out to check the damage (I'm really good at getting into car accidents. I'm also, as it turns out, really really good at repairing things.) Before I could show him what I perceived as the damage he was on the phone crying to his mother. He wanted her to wake up his father now. This was an emergency for crying out loud.
EMERGENCY.
To me, an emergency is when the airbags go off, or someone has a heart attack. Being more sympathetic, I'd also include a run-in with another car where the person is either unresponsive or really irate. An emergency takes place on a major highway, you're holding up traffic because a worm crawled out of the apple you're presently eating and touched your hand. You drop that apple fast only to have it roll under your break pedal. This causes you to rear end the car in front of you. Traffic gets held up and people honk and stare. That's an emergency I think.
This was not.
This was a minor "fender bender" that didn't even need to get reported to insurance, let alone parents. If the muffler were REALLY hanging off, I'd be concerned about maybe someone getting gassed somewhere down the road. But that wasn't the case. I know because while Chad was whining like a four year old, I'd gotten on my knees on the cold asphalt. I'd climbed under the car, craned my neck and took one look at the exhaust pipe. It just got detached. I took the caribiner off of my key-chain, pulled the bobby pin out of my hair. I attached them to the metal that usually holds the muffler in place.
The things was fixed.
It looked fine.
He got off the phone, tears streaming down his face. We had to cut the night short. The car absolutely had to be returned to his parents house. He was talking about calling a tow truck. Finally he stopped and kind of cocked his head to the side. "Why are you on the ground?" he asked.
I didn't say a word. The part of me that's overly sympathetic and wants to take care of everyone entirely forever and ever had at last shut off. I pointed to the exhaust pipe. He joined me on his knees and craned his neck under the back bumper.
"I might love you." he said.
Silently we got back into the car and rode to his parents house. His dad, straight from bed, came out with a flashlight. His mom offered me tea. I wanted to leave but my manners got the better of me. Somehow I ended up inside with her. I guess she wanted to get to know me better. The "men" stayed outside for a little while. Finally they came back in. I was greeted with a hug from Papa Chadwick and his son looked on, eyes filled with pride.
I wanted to die.
Somehow I ended up driving him back to his center city apartment at what must've been 2 am at this point. He expected me to stay over which made sense considering the time, I was tired, etc, etc, etc. But I wasn't feeling it.
As we were driving, mostly in silence, I turned the music off, not wanting to ruin any song I liked by tainting it with feelings attributed to this dope. I remember focusing hard on the lights of Boathouse Row approaching on our left. "Thank God," he began, "I was with you tonight." It started out heartfelt enough. "Thank God I was with the smart one."
I kept my eyes on the road and the lights reflecting off the river and let him continue, digging his grave. "I mean, I could have been with the hot girl I'm dating. Instead, I got to get into the accident while I was with the smart one."
Pulling up to his place, somewhere along 20th and Spruce I left the car in drive and put on the flashers. "There's usually parking that way," he pointed. I nodded. He looked confused and hurt. I hate to admit that I felt bad, but I did. This guy had absolutely no idea he'd done something wrong. At this point I probably should have told him. I should have saved him from making the mistake again to some other smart girl dumb enough to get into a similar situation. But I didn't. As I pulled away I realized I'd let him borrow several cds including the Decemberists and Paris Combo. My stomach churned as I imagined the hot one being impressed by his worldliness, Parisian gypsy-jazz sounds filling his pretty-nice place.
Then I imagined him, squished between her and a tow truck driver.
