A gentle descent into emotional gridlock.

I pulled in.
Waited, patiently.

The car park was small—
cramped, and full.

Drivers considered their options.
Eyes: nervous,
expectant.

Time stretched
like gum.

I had no time to move
as the truck reversed.

Crunch.

My poor little car recoiled.
We exchanged details.
They apologised.

“It’s OK.
Accidents happen,”
I said.

—

Exactly three weeks later,
the same thing happened again.

She’d been panicked—
spooked by a road rager
on our tiny country road.

“My God!
You’re the second to do this,”
I said.

“I’m so sorry,”
she said.

As I pulled in, shaken,
I damaged the other side of my car.

And that’s when I lost it.

Fuuuuuuck!

“Do you need a hug?”
she asked.

And there we were—
two strangers,
just…
holding on.

—

Later,
we both texted each other.

Are you OK?
we both asked.

I apologised for my behaviour—
though I guess
I’m just tired

of people reversing into me
whilst I try to get on—

with my life.

---

Marginalia

At the time of the first accident, I’d made a mistake on a client job. The client had been understanding, and so I tried to respond similarly to those who had reversed into me. But the bigger picture was harder to ignore: I was just trying to get on with my life, and other people’s dramas kept crashing into me—literally.

There aren’t many whispers louder than a car crash, and I had two, exactly three weeks apart. It felt like the universe wasn’t so much sending messages as it was driving them straight into me.

As part of a bigger story, both crashes happened just before I found out my herbal school was going ‘independent.’ By the time I unpacked that word, I was already in emotional gridlock.  You can read more about that in Dandelion Tears.