I was sitting on my couch when my mom called me. As usual, I was exasperated just from seeing her name. “Hello” I said as dryly as possible.”Billy? Can you come to Riverview Baptist? I got rear ended. I’m fine. The dog is fine. I just need you to come here.” I sat stunned for a moment. “Of course. I’ll be there shortly.” I grabbed my keys, and on the way out the door, I told the wife to exercise/eat without me, as I didn’t know how long I’d be gone. 

When I pulled up, my mom was hysterical. She was sitting in her Toyota Rav, clutching the steering wheel, and sobbing heavily. I had not seen her this upset in a long time. She rolled down her window, and said “They’re gonna total it, I just know it. I don’t want to lose my car. I can’t” I tried to calm her down by speaking in soothing tone. “Oh, come on.” I said, “It can’t be that bad.” I wandered around to  the side of the car, and saw she had just been scraped really hard on her rear passenger panel. 

I came back around, and told her that it was gonna be fine. You could hardly see anything, and it really did blend in with the rest of her already beat up vehicle. My mom has never been the best driver. In fact, she’s likely the worst driver I know. I got her to come out of the car, and come take a look, and that started to calm her down quite a bit. The other people at the scene were the other driver, and the driver’s mom. The driver’s mom seemed nice enough. So did the driver, truth be told. They were asking if my mom was ok, and I muttered something about being shaken up. 

I sat, and had my arm around my mom. She sat there quietly snuffling, and worrying her hands. When the cops arrived, she got a little apprehensive, but I again calmed her down, and told her the worst that would happen is that they would write her a ticket. “Go get your license and insurance.” I said, and she tottered off back to the driver side. 

The cop, examined both vehicles, and got the license and insurance information from each driver. He talked to the other driver first. I couldn’t overhear what was being said, but it seemed pretty obvious when the first words out of the cops mouth when he came over were “Ma’am do you own a cell phone?” My mom said she did, and the cop asked if she had been on it. She said no, and he kind of nodded and stared at her car. My mom explained what happened, and right away, I knew my mom was at fault. I’m not basing that on any prejudice towards my mom’s regrettable abilities, it really did seem like she was at fault. In any even, it was around that time, that cop number two showed up. 

Cop number two seemed more interested in crowd control as he gave me the once over the minute he got out of his car. I don’t really blame him, as I had on my exercise pants, a ratty tee, and my skull shoes. Top it off with my shaggy hair, and my creepy mustache, and I’m sure he sized me up in less than twenty seconds. 

It went on as these things normally do. The second cop that showed up had a nice conversation with the mom, and her daughter. Then he breezed on by us, like we didn’t exist. This didn’t help my mood any. I didn’t really want to gab at this man, but it was clear that he had chosen a favorite in this situation, and it wasn’t the old, poorly dressed, practically senile lady, and her degenerate son. 

As expected my mom got a ticket, but what surprised me was that she got two. One for the reckless driving, and one for not having current proof of insurance. As it happens, my mom had spilled the contents of her purse a few days ago, and part of what had fallen out was her new insurance. She never got around to putting it back in her purse, and we found it easily on her kitchen counter. 

Here is where the story really begins, though.

My mom leans over to me and says “I hope your daddy isn’t drunk when he gets here.” I of course startled at this and queried “What?” She went on to tell me that after work he stops off for “a cold one” just about every night, then he come home and drinks Crown Royal on the rocks. I knew about the Crown Royal. I didn’t know he was getting drunk a lot. You see, when I was younger, my dad was an alcoholic. He’d get boozed up, come home and beat on me and mom for awhile, and then pass out. It’s part of the why I’m so awkward around him now. I never really felt good enough at anything around him. He was an honor student, I fucked off in school. He was in the military, I’m more what you would call non-combative. He is a hard worker, and well, I’m a hard worker, so I didn’t really fall too far from the tree there. There, and other ways that are best left to another story.

Anyway, my dad shows up, and it’s kind of obvious that he has had something to drink. I could barely smell it on him, and it could have been aftershave, but I’ve never known my dad to still smell like it at the end of the day. He got there just as the cops were leaving. I explained to my dad everything that happened, and he took it all in stride. Which was surprising to me, because me, my mom, and the wife all thought he was going to lose his mind. 

We notice that mom’s tire had gone flat as a result of the impact. My mom has triple A, so I thought he would call them, and I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. Much to my chagrin, he decided to change the tire. The funny part of this situation is that the first cop as he is leaving said “What? You don’t know how to change a tire?” I glared at him for a full ten seconds before saying tersely “No.” I guess I could have justified it by saying that my dad worked a lot while I was growing up, at one point having three jobs, and when he wan’t working he was telling me how much I’m screwing up, so I never really wanted to spend time with him, but fuck this cop. He shook his head, and walked away leaving me feeling emasculated, and embarrassed. 

So, my dad looks at me and says “You don’t know howto change a tire?” I kind of sighed, and said “No, dad. I never really had anyone to show me” He took this as an invitation to teach me right then and there how to change a tire, and it’s a lot easier than I once had thought. I don’t know that I could repeat it, but it’s handy to have done it once. 

We said our goodbyes, and I stood in the parking lot for a minute thinking. What really bothered me about the whole thing was that I felt nothing. I wasn’t concerned about my mom. I wasn’t concerned about my dad’s possible fall back into alcoholism. I just didn’t care. 

I’ve had a bad past couple of years, emotionally. Those of you in the know, know what I speak of. My relationship with my parents has never been more strained, and my relationship with the good lord strained, and broken. So I guess I’m not terribly surprised, I’m just shocked at how little I cared. I never thought I would reach that point. It used to be that you could pick on me all you wanted, but if you talked about my mom, I’d strangle you. In one case, literally. Though that cousin is a dick, and he totally deserved it. Plus he spit on me, but I’m getting off topic.

Here I sit. Two days before my thirty-third birthday. I’m trying to turn it around. I’ve been carrying a lot of anger around. A lot. At people, at religion, at everything. I’ve never been more acidic in my entire life. I’ve driven people away from me, and I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I don’t think I’ll ever get any feeling back for my folks, but I want to try and move forward. I just don’t know how many more of these accidents I can handle.