Here I am, in sparkly silver flats, pushing a dead Toyota Camry down Beverly Blvd. My boyfriend Aaron is at the helm, running along side of the car and turning the wheel with all his might as we try to push it down some side street and out of the way of rush hour traffic. His Sonic Youth t-shirt is soaked with sweat and I can’t see the expression on his face but I’m sure it’s not the same as mine. I’m actually smiling and alternately laughing as my oversized beaded necklace bounces up to smack me in the mouth. I laugh then, because it’s better than screaming.
I should have been in Palm Springs by now. I should have been watching my estranged friends play jazz and then eating a fancy meal paid for by Erik’s parents. As we round the corner onto a side street Aaron jumps in the car and attempts to push start it. It works! And I start to think that maybe Palm Springs will happen after all. I run towards the car that has taken off in a straight shot, tires screeching, down the street. I can’t help but feel the eyes of the witnessing pedestrians on me. I just know their staring in incredulous, and justifiably outraged, disbelief. It’s true, he didn’t REALLY need to screech off like that, but he’s pissed. And I am still laughing.
But my dreams of the tranquil desert are cut short when the engine dies again, this time on Santa Monica Blvd, about 3 city blocks away from my apartment.
By the time we get the car home, alternately driving and pushing, Aaron has assumed full “angry bear” status. I resigned myself to an observer by the time he pulls open the door and then, gripping it with two hands, slams it shut as hard as he possibly can. This, however, is not enough to quell his anger-induced appetite for destruction. I sit in the car and watch as he stomps to the front of the car, fumbles around trying to open the hood, finally it gives. He props open the hood. And then jumps on the grill. That’s when I get out of my car and hurry over to him.
“What are you doing!?”
His response is to jump down off the, now broken, grill. He surveys the damage. Apparently there is not enough because he proceeds to pull the broken grill entirely off the car. It comes off in dirty, plastic pieces which he then uses to assault his engine. He throws all the useless pieces at his car engine. As they bounce off the metal with a tiny ping he says,
“You said you wanted to see me mad right? This is it.”
Then he walks around his POS Camry and methodically rips off all of his hubcaps
I can only laugh because even when he’s mad he still seems calm.
And it’s then that I realize, that I’d rather be here with him and his p.o.s. Camry, then in Palm Springs with them and their free food.