parallel parking

I was lying on her bed, the only place in the room where I consistently get reception, trying desperately to find the words that she’d already written on the internet. – If almost anyone else had beat me to it I might have harbored a slight resentment, but in such cases as these, I find it as difficult as resenting the one who paints the rainbows following a storm – I almost read her monologue to him, but decided it would be insincere or confused at best, like north trying to share the story of south. I tried in vain, and finally slapped the story’s open pieces shut with the notorious “Epic” label. He knew I was flailing my arms, and if Verizon wireless had not been preventing me from raising my torso above a 45 degree angle, he knew I would have been pacing pigeon-toed.

“And then we had to parallel park. ” He chuckled at this one, realizing full well the magnitude of the situation.

The last time I had to parallel park, it was winter in Detroit and we were bundled up on our way to ice-skate (another “talent-card” which I was never dealt). We found a spot, and I hit the brake with one furry boot while a red-gloved hand shifted to reverse. It was a disaster. so much so that two pot-bellied cooks in beaters taking a smoking break slapped their knees with glee while I slammed the brake and gripped the steering wheel, shaking, huffing, and having completely lost the ability to speak. But I didn’t need to. He spoke for me, saying only that he would park the car. We switched, I sobbed, and he shimmied the Jeep perfectly; with his arm around me we walked, not speaking one word until I smiled. we laughed a little, like we always do.

A long time ago, I wrote about my amusement with my father’s ability to run a multi-million dollar logistics budget while being incapable of ironing a shirt. I think I found mine.

Saturday, I pulled awkwardly to the pseudoside of the road, taking the keys out of the ignition and slamming the door with nothing more than a slight shivering of my lips. I pulled the seat back about a foot and a half so she could actually sit in it. She parallel parked for me.

After a high-fructose drink with blobs of gummi-bubble-something and the world’s longest hand drying session (no matter how dry my hands got, my eyes refused to follow suit), we were headed home – or whatever it is that you call this place. we listened mostly to music I’d never heard before, except for a few songs I’d already assigned memories to – good old Dave-who-you hate and a song that appeared on my Ipod while I was in front of Notre Dame Cathedral when I took myself to Paris. She said something about that one being an emotional song, and the water on my face betrayed my attempted silence. We flipped through the the CD, looking for something that didn’t sound like crying or anything else on the temporary black-list. “GAH!” she kept exclaiming as she clicked the next track button furiously. I suppose it’s no surprise that the one-word answer to every question in the world seems to manifest itself frequently in her mixes, but that sort of complicated simplicity isn’t always helpful. We settled on a sea of soul and a sultry voice… and repeated until we all knew the interlude.

It was less than my best, I suppose you could say. more accurately, my worst. I guess what I’m trying to say is thanks for parallel parking my car. and then loving me anyway.

yours.Rachel