rip scrappy

So today was the day I was supposed to be home… It’s my nephew’s birthday. He’s turning 2. I bought him a train conductor’s hat on top of Pike’s Peak last Friday and I was so excited to be home with my family and to see him smiling with all his new train toys my brothers gave him for his birthday and wearing his new hat. That would have been today. Wednesday. For a month I’ve been thinking about this day, planning for this day, so excited for this day. I was excited to unpack my car after almost 4 weeks of living out of it, excited to watch Ohio State football games on Saturdays on our comfy couch with my dad, anxious to see my dog and cat and anticipating the fights over who gets to sleep with me, planning on cleaning my car inside and out and thanking it for such an amazing journey. Then I’d print all my photos and lay them out on the floor and show my family where me and my car, Scrappy, have gone. They wouldn’t believe it.

I’ve traveled up and down mountains; across an empty desert where I considered squatting behind a saguaro to pee; into ancient churches where I covered my hands and legs in cool, holy dirt out of a hole in the floor; into canyons where I climbed rocks and tested my courage; I’ve walked into a cactus and had a swollen leg for a week; ran through the desert in Tucson where I amazingly did not hit a cactus; rode an old train up a 14,000 ft peak where I could see clear out to Kansas; and sunned myself on rocks in the Garden of the Gods… I’ve stayed with family and friends in Tucson and Payson, AZ; Colorado Springs, Denver, and Lakewood, CO; and spent only one lonely night alone in Santa Fe, NM.

I’m supposed to be home. I’m in Lakewood, just outside of Denver still. And it’s Wednesday. That Wednesday I’ve been thinking about. I called my nephew and hung up and cried. I’m sitting in a coffee shop while my friends Mel and Jason are working. They’re letting me stay with them until things get cleared up, til I find a way home.

I was in an accident Monday morning as I was getting an early start for Kansas City to stay with a family friend. I don’t have a clue where the car came from but I was hit on the driver’s side door. I can’t get the sound of that "pop" out of my head, that sound when the two metals collided and my head slammed against the side window. I’ve been laying in bed the past two nights reliving the experience over and over. I heard the pop and suddenly my car wasn’t mine to control. Like a wild horse it lept forward and into a curb and onto gravel where it came to a stop. Over and over I just repeated "oh my god oh my god…" Still not even sure what happened. I just sat there and looked around my car. Nothing looked funny except a bunch of my belongings were now at my feet. Cars were swerving around me and I realized I had to get out or I’d get hit again. I couldn’t open the door. I had to throw my body into it and it just fell open. I stepped out and covered my mouth… oh my god. My door was dented in and the tire was missing under the car and the front corner was completely smashed.

Vainly, my first thoughts aren’t, Is the other person ok? Am I ok? It’s, Scrappy’s gone. I can’t believe my car is gone.

When I was in Arizona and the border police asked what was under the blankets in the back of my car and I said, "My life," that was the truth. Everything I considered valuable was in my car and was my car. I’m writing this like a cowboy who’s just lost a good horse. And if you think that sounds ridiculous and I’m being too dramatic, then you don’t know what it’s like to have a good car. I mean, a really good car. And you don’t know what it’s like to be me… a person who attaches to inanimate objects probably alittle too easily.

54,000 miles and I was there from mile one. My little hatchback fit my life in it to and from college my junior and senior year. It roadtripped out west and back 6 times. It took me out to San Francisco and through Yosemite and Death Valley for my first roadtrip alone. It squeezed five 23-year old girls and camping gear in it for a 10 day roadtrip through Utah and Arizona’s National Parks… plus all the treasures we found in Mexico. It took me across Boulder Mountain and into my first camping experience alone. And when I drove clear to St. George, UT for groceries it was really so I could just sing at the top of my lungs to the redrock desert passing by as Scrappy sped past all the slow cars. It really had a lot of speed, just a little ford focus.

Aaah!!! I need to stop thinking about it.

It’s like someone died. And thank God I’m alright and the other lady was alright. They stuck an IV in my arm at the scene because my heart rate wouldn't go under 140. They kept asking me to calm down. That's easy for them to say. They took me in an ambulance to the ER to get x-rays and a cat scan for possible internal head injuries. But everything showed up fine. And I haven’t thrown up so I guess that means there was no concussion. The past two days I’ve had headaches and neck pain, but today I feel absolutely fine. Just two days after the accident. I should be thankful.

My car was a symbol of my freedom. It took me to all sorts of seemingly inaccessable places and back again. Its last week in Zion it took me off road where it wasn’t supposed to go. And I still never got stuck. I could cross the country over and over and I knew my car was reliable. I planned on driving it into the ground and I knew it could do that. Almost all of its 54,000 miles were highway miles and desert miles. Nothing too rough. I cleaned it inside and out regularly and got it’s oil changed way before it was ever due. I was a freak. And what was all that for?

So I’m waiting in Denver til we figure things out. Might rent a car. Might pack all my stuff up and mail it and just fly home. Maybe they’ll determine it’s not totalled and Dad will come out and tow it home with me. I don’t know anything right now and it’s so frustrating.