“Cars Come and Go – Nuclear Subs are Built to Last”

ElementaryIDSomething very unusual occurred at the scene of the crash. *If you’re wondering what “crash”, please read the previous post, in fact read the one before that as well, so you can catch up with the other kiddies here at the Story Hour Cafe.* Yes, indeed it was an unusual way to wake up from a peaceful alcohol induced slumber, with my shiny Nissan snapping off five steel guardrail posts and screeching along the top braided cable like a runaway roller coaster car. Although, that’s not the unusual part that I’m referring to here. With the rude awakening attended to, there was the punching and kicking of the car to take care of, because in my clear headed thinking, I absolutely blamed the car for getting me into that fight with the guardrail. Now, here’s the unusual part. There was by chance, a tow truck driver behind me on that stretch of highway and he must have witnessed my off-road shenanigans. He was the man yelling at me to step away from the vehicle, so I would not become the charred meat at my own private barbecue on Interstate 95. It got stranger still, when I walked over to the driver. He quickly rattled some breath mints out of a tin, told me to chew them up quick, and sat me in the passenger seat of his tow truck. He then coached me on what to say when the officers arrived. I practiced dutifully until I  had the chance to deliver my statement when the trooper asked if I had been drinking. “No, Offersir!”, said I, and he seemed to be satisfied with my performance. He left me to rest in the cab of the truck until the driver had dragged what was left of my automobile onto the flat bed behind. The car was mangled, nearly torn in two lengthwise, and it looked quite odd, like a car with ears, because both of the bucket seats had blown out the front doors like they were trying to make a run for it. I never saw the remains of that car again. I never received a bill for the guardrail, which must have been in the thousands to repair. My recollection is limited for that day, but I do know that I had angels helping me get through the ordeal. It may seem to some that I’ve made light during the telling of this extremely serious event in my life, so I’ll make myself perfectly clear here – There was a time when I carried all of this heavy baggage around with me. The past became more and more of a dark and remorseful identity as my role in the now. In recent years, I’ve come to a place where I am living present and in the moment, nearly all of the moments, in every day. Now I see the past for what it is – a thought construct with no relevance to my current journey, except in the obvious way – the hard lessons I learned through recklessly foolish choices. This nearly deadly wreck destroyed my only transportation and forced me to decide whether to leave my job at the shipyard or to move from Rhode Island to Connecticut. Feeling like I was mature enough to strike out on my own, I left Scituate and moved to Groton, where I continued to pursue my idiotic endeavors.

The disintegration of the hippy boy continues tomorrow. Come back to witness the unraveling! 

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