My work week ended with a bang, literally, as the truck behind me hit my car and nudged me into the vehicle in front of me.
I'd seen him coming, and thought, "He's so not stopping". I stepped on my brakes as hard as I could and just waited for the impact.
Damage wise, it's nothing major. A couple of dents, really. It's what happened when I got out of the car that still has me going in little circles in my head, little voices that won't stop whispering, little voices that get louder than my i-pod when I'm running on my treadmill.
"Do you have someone you can call"? The blank look on my face must have made him question whether I spoke English or did indeed have a concussion.
"I'm sorry"? (Always, with the "I'm sorry")
"You know, an emergency contact"?
"Um, no, I, I'm not even hurt. I'm fine. Actually, I really need to get going. I'm late to the sitter".
"You're shaking like a leaf. I don't feel right letting you drive right now."
I looked down, and sure enough, I was trembling from head to foot. I raised my arm to start pulling my hair up and down into imaginary pony-tails (another nervous habit), and could barely get it above my head.
I decided to drop my cunning plan of proving I could physically move by introducing him to my engaging personality. (See, I know you just cringed, and this is why I love you, readers).
"Oh, no, I'm fine, (nervous laugh) what a great end to the work week, and it's not even the end for me, I have to work tomorrow, (nervous laugh) oh, you know, I'm kind of a nervous person, and so it's really just my adrenaline that's making me shake so much and (nervous laugh) so, do you work the day shift or night shift"? (nervous laugh)
The look on his face made me suddenly very frightened that he was about to call a psych consult.
"Don't you have a husband to call"? As he peered in at Little A's car seat.
"Not that I can remember. Kidding, I was kidding. Sorry" (nervous laugh; mind screaming to me: "SHUT THE HELL UP"!)
"Boyfriend? Significant other"?
"Wow. I almost feel like you're my grandmother right now". (hahahahaha, nervous laughter just shooting out of me like fireworks run amok. Speaking of shooting, where is a sniper when you need one? Nothing lethal, just a nice little ricochet off the ass to focus my energies on things other than running my mouth.)
"Do you have a friend that could come and get you"? I ran through my list of friends. All wonderful, all tied to activities and husbands and significant others on Friday nights.
"No. I'm a total loser. Sorry"
"Please, I'm fine to go, just a little shaky, that's all. (nervous laughter) Sorry."
"I'll let you go. You'll need to call me here to let me know you made it, alright?"
I actually managed to nod my head back and forth rather than let one more word escape. "And, really, since you do have kids, you should think about getting some contacts in order, just in case I wouldn't have let you drive. Or if it were worse".
"Sorry. Right. Thanks. I'll get that list done this weekend and put it in my car. Sorry. Thanks".
I suppose if it were a true life and death emergency contact situation, I'd have called any of my good friends. But the dents in my bumpers also made little dents in my subconscious. It seems like lately, I'm missing the person that should be my emergency contact, and I don't think I've even met him yet.
It seems suddenly (ok, over the past few years), I'm almost always the single one in any crowd I wander into. I've enjoyed it, really, for the most part. The not answering to anyone, the reading until three in the morning if I wanted to, the going out with my friends and not having to worry about anyone being jealous or feeling snubbed.
Don't get me wrong, there are times that I feel like I am ready for the point in time when I am not the single one among my friends.
Ready, probably, until he offers to be my emergency contact. And there in-lies another post.