by bc woods"You know this is your fault, right?" My father was hunkered down in front of the wreckage of his girlfriend's car, muttering under his breath. From what I could make out, I was a real asshole.

Kathy was my father's third live-in girlfriend in the less than one year period after his fourth, and most recent, divorce. My father has never had trouble finding women. I imagine that this might have something to do with his habit of approaching a woman and saying "I love you and I want you to move in with me" before getting around to mentioning that his name is "Gary." He believes it is because he is out-going and fun.

Unfortunately, Kathy, while intoxicated, had wrapped it around a power-pole the night before. She was still in the hospital. "It's a damn shame. This car was a classic." The wreckage of the '68 Camaro still looked like it was bent around the power pole, even though it was no longer there. The entire frame seemed twisted around its left side. All that was left of the car, and it's "427 cubic inch, 450 horsepower fucking engine, you cock-sucker" was laying on top of a tarp at the top of our driveway. Dad had had it towed there, so he could stare at it and feel depressed in his free time. The only thing I can compare it to, is the compulsion mad scientists have to look at malformed children in formaldehyde jars.

"Yeah, it would have been better if she'd broken something replaceable like me." I answered. My father nodded his agreement. "How fast was this thing anyway?"

"Well, let's just say this: it went from zero, to ninety, back to zero in less than a block." He ran his hands over the bumper, then the license plate. He looked like he was caressing a sleeping lover... or like a necrophiliac fisting a dead cow.

"How is this my fault again?"

"Well, you were out with the truck last night."

"I was at a friend's graduation party."

"Well, if you had been here Kathy wouldn't have taken her car out and she could have called you to pick her up from the tavern."

"Clearly, I should've taken into account that this would happen."

My father nodded. The US had invaded Iraq only six months prior, and he still hadn't forgiven me for not finding a peaceful solution. The wreck of Kathy's car was the first thing in all of that time that had been able to retake the top spot in his mental "BC's Fault List." "At least Kathy is all right," my father muttered.

"How is she?"

"Still a little out of it. She was talking about her 'miserability" last night in the hospital."

"Hell, that doesn't mean anything. She says shit like that all the time." Kathy makes George Bush look like Demosthenes.

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure she was concussed when she said it."

Just then the phone rang. My father ran into the house to answer it. Kathy's loud, Fargo-esque voice began to yell through the phone. "Gary?!"

"Hey Kathy, how are you?"

"Gary?!"

"Yeah. I'm here with BC. He's apologized." Well, I hadn't, but it's not like anyone was keeping count.

Her voice was so loud I could hear it through the phone. "Ah hell, Gary! It ain't his fault. I told you my mom's spirit guided the car into the pole."

Putting aside all questions about superstition, "Why the fuck would she do that?" I asked.

As it turns out, what I had assumed was an alcohol related car accident, was in fact the spirit of Kathy's mother guiding her '68 Camaro into power-pole, in order to destroy her car and prove once and for all that my father loved her for her, and not her vehicle.

It's a pretty thought really. I can't imagine anything more comforting than believing that the spirits of all my dead ancestors are swirling around me, guiding me along my path, teaching me right from wrong. A thought suddenly occurred to me. "Wait, isn't Kathy's mom the one that tried to get Patrick Swayze to lift her over his head through the Make-a-Wish foundation?"

Amen.

Posted by BC Woods at 12:00 AM

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