“Get in the car, Bob, she’s not going anywhere.” The woman pulls her phone out and snaps a photo of me.
Bob walks back toward the driver’s side. Just before he bends to get in, he yells, “You better follow me.”
From where I’m at, I do not see any damage to his car, but by the time I pull into a space in the strip mall across the street, I am crying.
I get out and walk toward his car. He and the woman are bent over, staring at the back bumper. There’s a black streak, which is weird, since I have a chrome bumper, and then I remember:the bumper guards.On my front bumper there are two black rubber rectangle guards…thank god! I love my car, even if it does leave a Sasquatch-sized carbon footprint. I don’t drive much. That’s my justification.
“Look at that!” He points to the streak. I’m still crying, but not making much sound. “You’re gonna have to pay for that. Give me your insurance, missy.”
Missy?I take a deep breath and pull myself together. “It’s just a rubber smear.”
“No, this is a brand-new car and now it’s ruined ’cause you were on your phone, probably texting your boyfriend.”
“Excuse me, sir.” I pull my sunglasses down to reveal my well-earned wrinkles and puffy face from crying. “I am a grown woman, a mother of two. Please stop yelling at me.”
I lick my thumb, bend, and start to wipe the smudge off his bumper. The woman, who I assume is his wife, says, “Well, would you look at that. It’s coming off.”
Meanwhile, Bob is still berating me, “You’re gonna kill somebody someday…”
“Voilà! Good as new,” I say as I stand and take a step back to inspect my work.
“I don’t think so,” Bob yells. I’m ignoring him as I take pictures of both his car and mine in case he reports me. “What if there is frame damage that we can’t see?”
I look him straight in the eyes. Stray tears are still running down my face, but I’m breathing and speaking normally. “You’re kidding me, right? I’m sorry I hit you. I barely bumped you. I know you hardly felt it. I am sorry though. There is no damage on your car or mine and everyone is good,” I say, and then start to walk away. I’m secretly recording the whole thing on my phone.
“This is bullshit! I’m calling the police,” he yells.
I look back and see the woman rolling her eyes. She opens the passenger-side door. “Get in the car, Bob. The poor girl apologized. She’s crying. You’re making a big stink about this—just get in the car!”
Bob does get in the car. He drives off, cutting into traffic and almost causing a far worse accident. Three cars honk at him as he speeds along down the road. I leave and head for Jose’s, grateful again for my bumper guards. When I pull up to Jose’s house, Noah and Ethan are sitting on the curb, looking bored and irritated. Noah gets in the front seat and Ethan in the back.
“Jeez, what took so long? I thought you were right down the street. I was about to order an Uber,” Noah says with a snort laugh.
I glance at Ethan in the rearview mirror and see that he’s smiling at Noah’s comment.
“As if you could order an Uber,” I say.
“It’s a simple app, Mom.” He does something on his phone and a second later he holds it up to me. “See.”
“Yeah, but you need a credit card—”
We’re at a stoplight. “Look,” he says.
I’m familiar with the app. I see that within a few minutes he’s ordered an Uber to head to our house.
“Are you kidding! Cancel that, Noah!”
“Okay, okay,” He cancels it and then says, “You were the one who linked a credit card to our phones.”
Right. I forgot about that.
“Yeah, we should have ordered an XL—like, you know, a black Escalade. We could’ve gone cruisin’, yo!” Ethan says, chuckling from the backseat.
“No, yo! You could not have. I would have killed you myself. Do not ever order an Uber unless I explicitly instruct you to. God, I really am becoming useless, aren’t I?”
“No, Mom, we’re just messing with you,” Noah says and then looks out the window. “Why were you late though?” I don’t know why he won’t look in my direction.
“I got into a little fender bender. Everything is fine, I just had to pull over and let this old curmudgeon of a man yell at me for a bit.”
