Car

Car!

A simple word of one syllable with only three letters.

I wouldn’t say simple though. I’d say it’s the most complicated thing in my life right now!
“How can a car be so complicated?” one might ask.

It can!

See, I have a car, an old one, bought almost ten years ago. It may be old but I love it very much. I bought it with my own money. The money I’d been saving for a long, long time.
The car has witnessed almost every important thing that has happened in my life.
I went to my first date with my then future wife in the car. I remember taking her to a new restaurant. She was-and still is-the most beautiful woman in the world for me.
The car took my wife and me to our honeymoon hotel just outside of town. A man does not forget his honeymoon, does he?

The car witnessed the pain my wife had to go through while we were going to the hospital to have our first child delivered. Oh, I remember the panic and the screaming my wife let out. I also remember feeling totally helpless to her suffering. All I could do was drive as carefully and as safely as possible to the hospital.

I remember the day we took our daughter home from the hospital. I don’t think I have ever driven my car so slowly as I did that wet day. Then the rain seemed to mock my cautiousness as I was taking two of my most precious possessions home.

Next came our second and third children, at the same time. We have twins, a girl and a boy. Also driven to the hospital in their mother’s warm womb and later taken home in our beloved car.
On some weekends, we all go and visit my parents or my wife’s folks just outside of town in the car. The kids love the car, too. It may not be pretty but it’s all we have.

As our children grow, our needs are becoming more and more substantial. And next year, our eldest is going to elementary school. I don’t know why, but in this country we have to pay quite a lot of money to put our children in elementary school.

My wife has asked me a few times whether or not we should sell the car. I haven’t given her a straight answer yet. I’m still thinking about it.

Just this morning, my wife asked again if I had decided on the car matter. I told her I had not.
It is possible to sell it. Then we can use the money to put our daughter in school. But then how am I going to go to the office? How am I going to take my wife shopping for our weekly needs? How am I going to take the children to their grandparents’ house on some weekends? How am I going to take our daughter to school? And what am I going to sell when my twins are going to elementary school two years from now?

Which is more important? I simply cannot decide.

Besides, I still cannot imagine how I am going to survive without our old but faithful car. Riding a bus to the office? I have doubts that I will be able to do that. I’ve never ridden a bus in all my life. Not even once. See, I think I have some kind of phobia when it comes to riding a public transport.

As I’m driving along in my car, I keep thinking about how I’m going to get my family out of this crisis. It’s an almost impossible task without selling the car.

I don’t really know where I’m going, but suddenly I see a little girl crossing the street. She is chasing her puppy. I try to avoid her by swerving to the left.

I suddenly remember that I have forgotten to take my car to the garage. There has been something wrong with the axle. And now as I’m trying to avoid hitting the little girl, my car is spinning out of control. I just let it spin around and around and around. I don’t know how or where I’m going to end up. I’m beginning to feel dizzy. I hold on to the steering wheel so tight that it hurts. Now I know how it feels to not have control over your destiny. I know that hitting the brakes will only make things worse. So, I just close my eyes. Oh, I feel so tired.

Suddenly I can’t hear anything. The dreadful sound my tires are making has finally stopped. I carefully open my eyes, fearing that I might have ended up in the gutter.

I rub my clammy hands over my eyes as I’m looking at my oldest daughter. She is playing on the swing in the playground of her school. She is smiling at her friends. Her chestnut hair is playfully blowing against the soft texture of her face.

And I say to myself,” I’d do anything for her; even sell the car I’ve had for years. I’d sell my soul to the devil if I had to.”

I smile, as I feel a lot lighter than I have felt for days. If only I had known earlier… I’m going to break the news to my wife as soon as I can find a public phone.

Suddenly I feel quite dizzy again. I close my eyes for a few seconds, then open them again. I’m so surprised to see my wife sitting at the kitchen table. She seems to be crying. I put a hand on her shoulder to let her know that everything is going to be OK. I’m going to sell the car and we will have enough money to put our daughter in elementary school.

I tilt my head a little. How come she doesn’t react to my touch? When I touch her shoulder like this, she usually puts her hand on mine to silently thank me for the support or whatever it is I’m giving her. Now she just puts her head on the kitchen table and starts to sob even harder.
Something aches in me. It is the same feeling I used to feel when I watched my wife gave birth to our children. I could not do anything then, and I surely cannot do anything now for my wife, who seems not to notice my presence.

What am I experiencing? Is it what people call out-of-the-body experience? I absolutely have no idea. I’ve never been into this kind of stuff.

Oh, no! Not this dizzy sensation again. I guess I have to play along by closing my eyes.

As I open my eyes, I see the twins. They are playing in the living room. They seem to be fighting over something. Oh, they are watching TV and fighting over the remote control.

“Hey! Why are you watching TV when your mom is not here?” I say loudly to show them that I mean what I say.

They don’t seem to hear me.

Then I remember I’m experiencing an “out-of-the-body” experience.

I watch the twins fighting over the remote control for some time until someone suddenly turns off the light.

It’s so dark. And so silent. It is as though I were in some kind of eternal nothingness. I try to adjust my eyes to the darkness so that I can see. My effort is to no avail.

Then, as suddenly as the darkness that came, comes the blazing light of red and blue and that noise! Oh, my head hurts. And my eyes, I think I’m going to go blind in just a matter of seconds. My ears are going to explode with all these deafening sirens.

It takes a long time for me to finally adjust to the lights and noise. I’m finally able to open my eyes. I find that I’m looking up at two men in uniforms. They are looking down at me. I think I’m lying down on some kind of surface. I can’t say where.

The men seem to be saying something but I can’t hear them. The sirens are still ringing in my head. I try to shake my head to get rid of the noise, but I can’t.

A funny thing happens next. I still can’t hear the two men who seem to be screaming at me now, yet I can hear a faint heartbeat that I think is mine. I try to tell the men that my heartbeat is slowing down to almost none. They have to do something about it. They have to pump my chest or something. And they don’t have enough time. I panic.

God, they can’t do this to me! They can’t ignore me. I’m losing my heartbeat and I haven’t got
the chance to tell my wife that I’m selling the car.

The car! I look sideways and catch sight of my car.

Oh, no! It doesn’t look much like a car anymore. The hood is curled up in an awkward arrangement, the windshield is broken, and … Well, I don’t know what else is wrong. My car just simply doesn’t look like a car.

How much will I get for that junk? Will it be enough to pay for my daughter’s school entrance fee? What else am I going to sell if I can’t sell the car?

That dizzy feeling comes back and I know it is responsible for the discontinuation of my heartbeat.

“Hey! Wait a minute! I need to sell that car for my daughter’s school entrance fee first!”

The eternal nothingness then returns.