Monday, January 29, 2007

For The Widows In Paradise; For The Fatherless In Ypsilanti



Every perfect day needs a topper-- an apex from which every blissful moment can delicately unfold before beginning its descent. But what happens when the day is flat lined on a negative scale with no hope of a point of increase?
Your tires get slashed.
It was bad that I could not find my carpool. It was worse that I was stuck in slippery heels without any way to contact my friends whom I was supposed to drive. But the climax-- the minimum point of my day, the anti-apex, if you will-- became tragedy when I coatlessly found the New Yorker sitting on a slope that allowed the rim of the back tire to kiss the asphalt in a most threatening manner.
Someday I would simply like to go home after school. That's it. No unclosable doors, no dead engines. Someday I would like to hop in my car and have it take me places without running the risk of suicide from an imploding radiator.
So I passed this anticlimax by standing in shock next to a car with peeling red paint and 'YSLER' glued in rusted silver letters across the back, utterly at a loss for action.
I decided that putting on a decent facade of knowledgeable tire-changing skills for the sophomores congregating on the driving range would be a good start. I opened up the trunk, where I knew a spare tire was kept. I pulled on it. It would not give. I tugged on the jack next to it. I have found that in calamities biceps and arm muscles are extremely useful. If nothing else, they give comfort in their existence. Mine exist, but only for a taut allowance of minimal tasks-- such as holding a spoon and waving at people in the hallways. My arms are not meant for manual labor.
With half my body immersed in the open trunk, my bare knees anchored on the sagging bumper, and my sleeves rolled past the elbow, I pulled and pulled at that blasted tire. By this time I had grime on my legs and hands, and was feeling extremely frustrated.
And then he came, an enormous angel who was extremely scary and simultaneously wonderful.
"Well, that sucks!" said Coach Gross, as he leaned over me to inspect what little progress I was able to make with the immovable tire.
He moved it with one hand, picked it up like he was picking up a plastic ball. He raised and lowered and unscrewed and basically lifted the entire car, while I stood back, shivering in my stupid little pink heels, feeling the negativity that comes with feminine helplessness-- or perhaps just my weakness and failure as a human being.
As I was driving home slowly on my newly changed, bike-sized back rear tire, I reflected on the goodness of human nature. Nobody had to stop to help me. I could have stood abandoned in the parking lot for a long, long, time.
Every perfect day has an apex.

13 comments:

J-Vicious said...

Car trouble is extremely annoying. I'm glad you were not stranded.

J-Vicious said...

It is indeed, I couldn't agree more. I am constantly feeding from its many plates. :)

Nedge said...

Who is this "Coach Gross"???
I'm glad you weren't stranded. That would've been awful.
I'm sure you exaggerate when it comes to how "weak" you are. I have found that you have a very strong grip...

Brittany said...

Coach Gross is the biggest man I've ever seen. And he's not fat either. He's just...huge. I can't believe ginormous he is, and it gets me every time I see him.

I wish that I knew how to change a tire and do all those life-sorts of tricks. Man...

Brenda said...

I'm sorry to hear about your troubles. Don't worry I wouldn't know how to change a tire either. I had a flat once and I called my dad. Coach Gross's daughter was our substitute last week. She's a big girl there was definately a family resemblance. That was nice of him.

Sasha Mari said...

Jos i can not believe dad has not taken you under his wing for the big "how to change a diesel's tires" and where was your cars 72 hour kit... blankets and flares. I have been reading through your fab words and find you dramatic and intreging... please continue oh, wise young one. sasha the older. by the way it was my birthday...

Sasha Mari said...

actually you wrote this on my birthday... ode to sasha?

Anonymous said...

glad you're safe josi!!! i can FULLY sympathize with you and ur predictament, because remember--before it was yours--the new yorker was MINE!!! imagine driving that beast to provo and back--yeah, pretty scary.

Joslynn said...

Jesse,
I appreciate the concern. Something in my head told me to take my cell phone to school, and I ignored it that day. I've learned my lesson.

Nat,
I'm sure you felt the wrath of my monkeyish grip many times. And I am also sure you were easily able to resist it. You are like a brick wall.

Britt,
Coach Gross is huge, enormous, gigantic, and immense. Muscles like that make baby elephants as light as kittens. What?
I wouldn't know. We are muscle twins.

Brenda,
You got a flat tire? I want to hear this story!

Sasha,
Believe it or not, I am working on a tribute for you. Hold tight.

Shirsti,
You share my pain. For that we have an eternal bond forged from the iron and steel of the New Yorker.

Brenda said...

My falt tire story. There's nothing to tell. Taveling to registration in front of the seminary building I heard the dreaded clunking noise. I pulled into the parking lot, Saw the tire was flat. Called my dad. Went into registration. When I came back out my tire had been changed and the flat tire had been taken to be replaced. It was a nail. Not that exciting, but you asked. I want to read the tribute to Sosha. The stories you tell about Sosha are always so entertaining. I can't wait.

Brenda said...

Shirsti,
Did the New Yorker talk to you when you were driving it?
-Your door is ajar.
-Your wiper fluid is low

Joslynn said...

Your engine will self destruct in 3... 2... 1...

J-Vicious said...

haha I know what you mean. I hate when I start liking a song and a year later I find out the correct lyrics......ugh this whole time I had been singing something else....hahaha.