Good Arma

Isolated Accident

Sunday, November 6th, 2016, 6:23 p.m.

Well... another day, another d—

Another d— ...sigh.

I took my next turn in the car, wanting so very much to finish my thought with "delight." As someone who desperately aspires to optimism, little would please me more. But my stubborn mind kept returning to the same, less fortunate 'd'-word. The Devil's Dictionary defines a year as "a period of 365 disappointments." I am hard-pressed to argue.

I

so

very much want to be positive. Take my words! Oh, how I'd

love

to hop out of bed every morning, go out with a big beautiful smile, charm the world's socks off and then playfully tickle its feet. Alas, I can't—for a hostess of reasons, but one being...

...You know what, I'm sorry, I shouldn't spill too much drama too quickly. I want you to feel like my friend, not my therapist. So then, Dear Reader—and friend—let's start with some basics.

My name's Gwen. Gwen(ny) Eva Margulies. You may call me Gwendolyn if you see fit; I don't have a problem with it, I just don't normally go to the extra-syllabic effort. Yes, there is a bit of significance in my initials. You needn't inform me just what a "GEM" I am. Seriously, please don't. It hits me as a ball of pressure to be just a jewel of a girl. I'm not a good enough person to live up to such an image. I fancy myself a nice, sweet chick who means well and tries to do what's right. Honest, I really do. One thing of it is, sometimes I misjudge what "right" is. For another, I seem to exercise less tact than intended.

All my usual cares weighed my mind as I concluded my drive. I'd done a few of my regular errands—bank, grocery store, pharmacy—and was now headed home. It was getting dark. A bit cloudy, but the sunset was particularly beautiful. Well, whatever happened, at least I had my iPhone connected to the stereo, and my favorite band piping the speakers. Roxette. I cannot tell you just how many dark, rough times they've helped me through. They've been going strong for thirty years now, and probably not much longer; they're getting on up there. But they just put out a new album earlier this year. I

love

singing along, and so did just that as I trolleyed the streets, just a few neighborhoods from home. The title track began.

"Sense... you are on a ship..." I crooned with the song. "With the wind... and the sun...

"And you close... just one eye... 'cause you're not really sure... if you wanna be alone..."

Rhyming "sun" with "alone"...oh, those wacky Swedes. Stationary cars begin whizzing by me on either side. I suppose I started to get excited, unconsciously picking up speed down this residential road. While the music of this group—and its individual members—cheers me up, it also contributes to my semi-frequent spells of giddiness. That's an example of the silly way my mind works. I'm clinically depressed, but every now and then my heart leaps and my body floods with excitement... sometimes over nothing. Don't ask me why. And I distinguish, by the way, between this giddiness and actual happiness. I've felt both—though happiness in fewer doses—and there is a difference. Let me see if I can explain this...okay, maybe those clouds can help me.

Imagine on a scale of happiness, that if you're sad, you're on cloud one. As happy as you can get's cloud nine. Giddy, or excited, is an animal of a different color—if you'll forgive the metaphor-mixing. It's more related to anxiety, and almost even panic in a way. So if you're as relaxed, tranquil and geared down as can be, we'll say that's cloud A. Maximum giddiness, cloud I. Also, they get smaller and smaller as you go, adding the panic of falling from them. Maybe not the most ideal scale, but suitable enough for my purposes.

"Come along and check, check it, come along, there is something go-ing on...g—"

What separates this day from any other is what happened to me next. It was unthinkable, unavoidable, and absolutely terrifying. I realized in the split second it took that I

must

've picked up speed. I'm usually an okay driver, obeying laws and so on, but now and then, I fall victim to a complete

bone

head moment in the car. I regret to say one of those moments happened right here.

From behind a car at right, a rushing shadow caught the corner of my eye. As it registered, I gasped and thought,

oh no, a squirrel!

It was not a squirrel. It was also not a deer...but I'm inclined to say the size and novelty thereof played a factor in my panic. At first sight, I thought it was a cat. A

giant

cat. This guess too was erroneous.

It was a

fox

. I could hardly believe it. I had

never

seen a fox up close and personal, not even at the zoo. And through said residential neighborhood, without even any woods nearby. I'd have been less surprised if it

were

a deer!

It darted across the street, directly in front of me. I reflexively slammed on the brakes. Ironically, this was the wrong move. The poor creature's ears perked at the noise, and its head flew my way. It tensed up... and

froze

. Like a... well, like a fox in headlights.

I observed with horror that I was not going to stop in time. My heart pounded with dread. The first time I'd ever seen a real fox, and I was about to kill it! I did the only thing I could think to. I grabbed the wheel, jerked in one direction and erratically swerved.

The horrific sound that came next told me all I needed to know. I could swear my heart stopped.

I did

not

hit the fox.

I watched with a tiny morsel of relief as it scampered up the lawn and behind a fence, leaving me with the inner chaos and real-life carnage I'd just created. It was gone...and I was alone.

At least I had to hope I was. I didn't know what I'd do if someone had seen and confronted me. I couldn't feel my heart, but the rest of me shook like a leaf. My hands and feet couldn't stop quivering. My blood curdled and turned dry ice-cold. Chilled sweat broke on my brow. Roxette obliviously played on through the stereo, which I proceeded to turn down.

My morsel of relief at the fox's being unharmed would've been far greater had I struck nothing. Of course, this went without saying. Which was good, because I couldn't speak right now. I looked around through darting, tear-welling eyes, seeing no one—though this calmed me only slightly. Someone could still have seen me through their window.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god...

I slowly pulled away from the car I'd just hit, and sidled along the opposite curb. I needed to calm down. I needed to force myself through some deep, deep breaths before I could do anything else. If someone

had

come over and yelled at me, I'd have fallen back apart, bawling my eyes out, maybe even getting sick... but I'd have deserved it. Part of me did feel a bit like throwing up, just for a little purging. But the rest of me vetoed it. I felt so horrible...but that wasn't the way to handle it.

I locked the doors, unbuckled, took out the key and let the car go dark inside. I did as I had to for the moment, curling up in the driver's seat and letting some tears out. God... I thought, beating myself up, that was so damned unnecessary. Why had I allowed myself to speed up like that? Just because I love my music?? What kind of idiot reasoning is that? I'm in a residential neighborhood, for hell's sake! Geezus, Gwenny, why are you so

stupid?!!

It was all part of going through the motions, something I had to do before this could be resolved. Any second now I expected to hear a harsh knock on my window, look up and see an enraged face glaring down on me. I couldn't yet bear to look at the damage I'd caused our cars. I turned the volume back up a notch or two, and let the music soothe me. This new Roxette album bore only eleven songs, fewer than any of their others, but I had all their stuff on my phone. I could listen as long as I needed to.

I guessed it could've been worse... a philosophy I cling to when possible. This failed making me feel much better either, but remained true. It

could

've been worse. I could've

totaled

my car, inside

and

out, thereby unable to get it out of the street and off the victim car.

Yikes

... actually, that part did make me feel better. I love my car, she's my baby. I'm sure the owner of the car I hit felt similarly.

Something else that could've made this worse: if I'd been driving with no insurance. A huge no-no to begin with, and they'd probably screw me on my rate for this...but just imagine the trouble I'd be in without it. I suppose I have to be thankful for that; I possess the basic necessities of life. A job, health insurance, a home... well, it's actually my Dad's home. Even though I'm 33 now, I've sadly never made much money, or had the ambition to go big and chase success. So, I live with him. It's no huge tragedy; we take care of each other in different ways, and he doesn't make me pay rent, so it's not like I'm hurting for cash. And last year we bought and had some guys build us a pool table in our rec room, out of which we've gotten more than our money's worth.

Living with my father wouldn't have been my first choice. In my late teens I started dating a girl my same age. A decade later we moved in together. (I know, I know: lesbians shacking up after a

decade?

What were we thinking??) Then we got married. I won't go into details, but it didn't work out. So I'm divorced, and really okay with that. I moved back with Dad 'cause my ex made more coin than I, and basically supported us. And because he's always kind of been my best friend. Not that it's a horserace.

That part I'm less okay with. I have a little brother who's married with kids, a beautiful house and a hundred friends. I love him, my sis-in-law and my niece and nephew, I wouldn't trade them for anything. But going to visit them, being around all their friends and inevitably left alone and ignored...that bugs me. And no, I'm not exaggerating; that really is the way it happens. Little as I want this to turn into a sob story, I've never been Miss Popularity. Even when married, Laurie's—that would be my ex—friends were just that: hers. Not that I blame anyone else. After my childhood, adolescence and the scenarios therein, I today am terminally shy, and have trouble maintaining eye contact. That's not going to win me friends, I'm aware, but I can't just magically change it either.

Dad has his own cadre of friends, and spends a disproportionate amount of time on the phone with them. He's in his late 60s, and like a teenage girl on that phone. He's technically a widower, though he planned to divorce my Mom after Daniel—my brother—and I moved out. They dropped out of love, but Mom got afflicted with a condition called Huntington's Disease, which took her life early last year. My relationship with her was... complicated, to say the least. Dad did not divorce her, as her illness coincided with our leaving the nest, and he felt compelled to take care of her. Because, and I

do

intend to brag about him, that's the kind of guy he is. Although it

really

started to take it out of him after a while. I'm by no means happy Mom died, and I'm not saying I wanted her to, but I did want them both to be able to stop suffering already. So...please pardon me for unloading all that on you, but now in any case you know me better. This brings us back to today, and my current predicament. I watched minute after minute pass through glassy wet eyes. It had now been almost half an hour since the incident. Still no one had approached me or seemed to notice.

I felt the terrible temptation to do the wrong thing. To flee. To swipe and run, most likely ruining the poor owner's day when he or she noticed. The coward's way out. On one level, it'd have been so easy, cost me naught but peace of mind. But on my human level, it was inconsiderable. Something a younger, more carefree pussy of a Gwenny would've done. But not today-Gwenny. Today's Gwenny had to do what was right. She was even more scared that someone might catch her, but...this fright was overridden by the knowledge that running away would burn on her conscience. It already torments her enough under normal circumstances.

I popped open my glove compartment to retrieve my car manual, a bank transaction slip, and a pen.

My name's Gwen. I'm SO so sorry, but I'm afraid I accidentally hit your car. I was coming down your street, and a

I paused, placing the pen, pensively, to my lips. I wasn't familiar enough with this neighborhood to know how common foxes were, but I couldn't imagine them being ubiquitous anywhere. Nor did I know how often folks around here may've seen them. And while "fox" was completely honest, achieving conviction seemed easier said than done. In other words, claiming I swerved to avoid a fox could very well sound made up. I amended the article, keeping the note honest, and went on.

an animal ran out into the road. I know this is on me, but all I could do was swerve. Of course I'll be responsible. I'm insured with Elephant, so I'm sure we can fix this. Please call me at xxx-xxx-xxxx. Again, very sorry. Gwen

There was nothing left to do now but leave it. Getting out to even look at the car much less touch it was daunting alone, but I did feel better having written the note. I put the pen and manual away, exited and shivered, seeming only now to notice how cold it was. Which made sense; I'd been sitting in my heat-equipped car watching the sun go down. There was just a wee bit of daylight left.

Under the nearer windshield wiper went the note, and I returned to my Malibu. My gaze absentmindedly darted to the damaged side, and my heart ached. My eyes stung a bit more when I mentally relived hurting my baby... and this other baby as well. I can't lie: I contemplated staining the note with my tears, if only to try and persuade the owner to feel sorry for me. Like women do when cops pull them over. But this seemed unnecessary. I'd done what was right in the moment, and could now feel okay with myself.

The sun was down. I slowly pulled away, and drove off into the night heading for home.

*****

Half-Buried To Begin With

Thursday, November 10th, 2016, 6:48 p.m.

I purport to be a noticeably sweet woman. For a long time I've sought a reputation for being a honey, a darling, an angel. Not necessarily to be called those things, just thought of as them. I try to do nice stuff and offer a kind word to my fellow man when possible... though if I'm to be brutally honest, again, I'm too often terminally shy. Always concerned with what others may be thinking of me. It's really no way to live socially, but also something else I can't just change.

I'll spare you these details, Lovely Reader; just suffice it to say that my current shyness is a result of my school experience. Hardly unique, yes, but truthful nonetheless. My clinical depression is a separate issue. Like most, I can appreciate the wonder of a glorious sunset, a majestic work of art, a beautiful girl of any age, a sumptuous meal... but with that admiration comes a feeling of longing and envy, a wish that someone saw such beauty in me. It's true, I am self-absorbed beyond a fault. It's one of my more glaring flaws, and I am one flawed kitten. Little could I know, though, that even a flaw of this magnitude could be challenged.

After my close encounter of the foxy kind and even closer Toyota Camry union Sunday night, I found it understandably tough to sleep. I played it cool coming in, saying hi to Dad, explaining that I was tired and going to bed early. I eventually dozed off, though the incident weighed still on my heart and mind. At least, one could foresee, I needn't wait long for the phone call. Also needless to say, when it came, I jumped in my chair and felt my heart skip a beat. I checked the caller ID.

...Yep: that was a local number, all right. This was it. My hands shook as I took a deep, deep breath and pressed talk.

"Hello?"

"Yes, hello, is this Gwen, please?"

A woman's voice. Even though I knew this was

the

call, hearing her say my name made me force down the lump in my throat.

"Yes, yes, it is," I nodded, trying to keep the anxiety in my voice low.

"Oh, excellent. Morning, Miss Gwen. My name's Crystal Weatherly. I believe our, shall we say...vehicles met before we did."

"Uh, yes, yes, they did..." I gave a nervous chuckle, swiping at my forehead. "Like I said in my note, Miss... Crystal, it really was a total accident and I'm so sorry again. I-I swear, a fo—...an-an animal really did run right out in front of me, an—"

I was starting to panic, and she must have sensed it. She jumped in.

"It's...Gwen, Gwen. Calm down, honey, take it easy. It's okay. It's all right."

I shook my head that I disagreed, even though she couldn't see me. I was about to say so, but she went on.

"I know it was an accident. And to be completely honest, I was astonished you left me a note!"

She laughed, which did a helluva job of putting my mind at ease. I wasn't expecting her to take it so well.

"Y'know, sure, when I saw it, it certainly didn't make my day. But it really did amaze me."

"Well...I-I mean, anyone would've done the same thing."

Crystal laughed again. "Are you kidding me?? Gwen, virtually

no

one would've done the same thing! Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the driver'd just take the easy way out and run. I can't believe I met that hundredth person!"

I had to admit, she had more tears rushing my eyes, out of both relief and... no, no, pretty much just relief.

"Well, I... I had to do it just so I could live with myself," I explained, trying to sound humble. "I mean, maybe... maybe it's just me, but I don't get how anyone could hit and run and

not

feel so guilty about it that they'd have to make amends."

"Well you see, the fact that you said that and feel that way shows that you're a good person. Bad or malicious persons wouldn't feel the compulsion to clean up their mess. They'd just go to insurance and claim someone hit

their

vehicle."

"My gosh, that's terrible. I hadn't even con

sider

ed lying about who was at fault!... Uh, not that I'd have hit-and-run to begin with."

Another chuckle. "I know it, Gwen, I know. Don't worry; we'll sort this out. We're both insured, and I know a great body shop."

We chatted a bit more, and Crystal then agreed to allow me to treat her to a nice tasty supper, just to fully bury the proverbial hatchet. The first evening we both had free was Thursday the 10th.

I don't mind admitting to you, Beloved Reader, I was just as nervous to meet her in person as on the phone—if not more. The meeting was just this, a meeting, an encounter to share a meal and really nothing more for the moment. As there were no parameters to obey, I dressed normal-cazh, making sure I merely looked nice. I wore my long-sleeved sky-blue dress, nylons and Hush Puppies, as I told her I would. And while I'd not been to the body shop yet, I parked in a discreet corner space, scratched side facing away.

Crystal'd told me she'd be wearing Clarks, black pants and top, and a prominently noticeable red peacoat. So I paused in between the front doors, alternating glances into the restaurant and back to the parking lot. Finally, a few moments later...

Gasp—oh my heavens, there she is.

That outfit indeed was unmistakable. Even had she not told me, I'd have still known.

Okay, Gwenny, try not to be too nervous. Relax. Remember, you're here to just enjoy a nice friendly meal. No pressure for anything. Oh, she sees me. There she is, here I am. Okay, Gwen, this is where you make eye contact. Deep breath! Deep breath, eye contact... oh yeah, and smile.