A Car Named Dot

I drive a little black convertible VW Beetle and her name is Dot. I read once that cars can reflect their owners in the sense that if something is wrong with the car it could represent the emotions of the driver and what they are going through. Dot has not been feeling her best. I have not been feeling my best either — I left a sociopath partner, my home and most of its contents with no money and no place to go.

Yesterday, Dot dropped her engine. Yes she did. As I was driving, luckily slowly and close to home — I felt something begin to drag on the street. I pull over to the curb — get out and see Dot bleeding all over and the engine peaking out of her under carriage. I’m a block from my parents and I really need a cup of coffee. I don’t know what to do really and I’m in no mood. My brother greets me at the door as he does every morning and asks if I walked from home. “No, Dot is around the corner. She dropped her engine. Please pour me some coffee.”

This recent episode with Dot feels like the finale since I left Socio. The core of Dot’s being — what makes her run, what drives her — literally fell out of her and now she is broken from the inside out. Is that me too? So broken on the inside that I too had my bolts and brackets break for no apparent reason causing my insides, my core to give way?

Not even a week after leaving Socio — Dot and I were hit by a semi-truck with a 30 ft. trailer taking out the driver side door and impacting the front and back wheel wells with scratches and a dent or two. The semi coming off an exit while I’m stopped at the red light, couldn’t make the tight turn and looking at his trailer in the rear view mirror, did not notice that he was headed straight for me.

I see the large truck coming towards me as my view aligns with his bumper, I can not see him and where he is looking but I’m sensing that he is not going to stop as I chant — “he is not going to hit me, he is not going to hit me” which quickly became “he just hit me”. I’m stunned for a moment and don’t know whether the cracking sounds mean I can pull to the side of the curb or if Dot is crippled in the intersection. I’m really afraid to get out and look.

Out of what felt like nowhere — to my immediate right is a women with colorful cornrows in a white Toyota Camry. “I am your witness. I AM Your Witness. I AM YOUR WITNESS, she yells while gesturing with a tapping motion with her big n long fancy gel nails for me to roll down my window so she can make sure I know that she is my witness. “Are you OK?,” she asks one word at a time, very slowly as if we might not speak the same language and she wants to make sure I can understand her. “I’m fine,” I tell her. Pull over, she gestures even though my window is down and we have established that I can understand her.

“I saw it all. I saw IT ALL! He hit you and I’m going to stay right here with you until the police come. I saw EVERYTHING. He was not looking and I know he’s going to try give some lame-ass excuse,” she recites in the type of tone that says I am large and I am in charge, baby. My name is AnJelLA. Capital A, small n, Capital J, small el then back to caps for the LA. Nice to meet you.”

Okay… her name is AnJelLA, she is my witness driving a white Camry. This big beautiful black woman is my guardian angel, I’m sure of it. Did I mention that the accident took place on the corner of Guadalupe and Mission. It must mean something.

I look at the damage while listening to her talking to me about things that seem to have no relevance but that’s okay — she is my witness. A minute or two goes by and she starts looking for the driver of the truck. The truck pulled up an intersection or two and parked and I expected that he was walking back towards me. She wasn’t so sure. In a flash, AnJelLA was back in her car heading out in search the driver of the truck.

Up ahead I see two police officers running towards me and a very confused truck driver running behind them. They yell from down the street “are you okay, are you injured, should we call an ambulance.” “I’m perfectly fine,” I yell back. My Witness rounds the corner and slides back into her parking spot on the side of the road. “I found him,” she says proudly. I don’t know that she actually did but I figure if she wants to own that she apprehended the driver of the semi truck of what could have been a possible hit and run situation then I was going to absolutely let her have it.

AnJelLA introduces herself to the officers as the witness. Apparently they don’t take police reports any longer and I’m certain that she is devastated that she can’t go on record with her statement of events. Sensing her disappointment, one of the officers takes out his pad of paper and begins to ask her questions, for the record.

The driver, Jose — is scared. Scared that I’m upset and afraid I may cry or yell at him. I was very calm and certainly knew this whole situation was a simple mistake. I could see the difficulty with the turn — I was in the wrong place and I guess so was he. We exchange information by taking photos from our camera phones of each other’s insurance, drivers license and registration. AnJelLA completes her testimony with the officer and with a big wave and a hug from me — gets into her Camry and goes — my angel.

I finish up with the officers, smile at Jose to let him know there will be no trouble from me and get into Dot and ever so gently pull away from the curb.

After Dot’s accident and her repair which included a new passenger door, and side panels we both began to move ahead in focusing on our healing. A few weeks after she came home from the auto body shop, Dot won’t start and she makes not a single sound. Not even the ignition turnover sound you hear when the battery is dead. Dot is completely silent. I joked that she is silent because she has seen some things she doesn’t like while parked on Laura’s street and she’s not happy there — its dirty and dusty and the people are not her kind. She went blind in one eye (headlamp out) at one point to prove it.

I replaced Dot’s battery even though it didn’t help. She was sick again this time it was her fly wheel. I still don’t know what a fly wheel is but sounded like something that was probably not good with me either. After that — a new clutch then a few weeks later a Catalytic converter and a new transmission. Her front head lamp went out and it felt like driving her with only one eye on the road. Then there was the new drive shaft. Thermostat. One of the motor guides to take the convertible top down broke but I didn’t get that repaired. She was costing me a fortune that I didn’t have while telling me she had some external and internal issues that she needed to recover from.

Then the grand finale — the engine drop. What more dramatic way could Dot have chosen? I called the mechanic. He laughed. I called the tow truck company. They laughed as if they did not believe that yes, yes and YES — the engine had fallen out of my car.

Dot is home now and recovering nicely. She has two new shiny bolts, a lovely bracket and another part that has something to do with her front axel. My hope is that her dramatic healing, like mine — is coming to an end and that there isn’t any more signicant parts that need to be repaired or replaced.