Ugly Volvo Wednesdays…

 

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Crazy B*tch (Memoirs of a Lemon Lover in Recovery)

Chapter 33—Sometimes the Light At the End of the Tunnel is a Train

Even though the evidence, and by sheer comparison—sanity, was on my side, the case did not resolve quickly or easily. By the evidence alone, the case should have been thrown out, but the woman wasn’t just crazy. She was both bat-shit crazy, and crazy like a fox. She managed to convince the authorities that this case needed to be sorted out by the courts, and used whatever influence she had to ensure that. So, what should have taken a few weeks stretched into several months thanks to the crazy woman. It has been said that, the greatest challenge of dealing with a crazy person is the risk of her bringing you down to her level, and then beating you with experience. Thankfully my lawyer was exquisitely trained to deal with the crazies. He dealt with her so that we didn’t have to take that risk.

Once we successfully disproved her rendition of events, the crazy woman modified her story claiming “repressed memories due to emotional and psychological trauma”. She recanted the part about our being on a side street and admitted our conversation took place on the street where the collision happened. She was “too emotionally and psychologically traumatized” to recall exactly how I pulled out and broad-sided her and pulled back into my original spot, but according to her, that is what happened. She still alleged I became abusive and violent, and at times tried to push her into on coming traffic. Even though her story lacked any kind of plausibility, her penchant for performance seemed to compel everyone to listen, spellbound, to her tale. If I had not been there at the scene, I might have even believed her versions of events.

My lawyer held steady, and went after the holes in her story like a rabid dog.   I remember my dad giggling to himself throughout the whole thing. He enjoyed watching this crazy woman get her just desserts. The crazy woman’s drama was no match for my lawyer’s visceral interrogation. The she tried to revise her version of the story, the more un-credible she seemed. It was late spring by the time all things were settled and I was able to repair the damages to my sweet golden car.

As long as legal proceedings took, my recovery took that much longer. I spent all the spring, and summer spending all kinds of quality time with my chiropractor. I am sure he got sick of me, but my spine was stubborn, and my life placed demands on my spine that did not hasten healing. The legal proceedings alone demanded so much sitting, and so little stretching and movement. I really envied my car for the ease with which she could recover from injuries.

I was finally discharged from chiropractic care approximately one year later. It was a cold winter day. It wasn’t really blustery, but the streets were plagued by snow packed and icy intersections. I was no stranger to winter driving, and really anticipated no difficulties. I was driving home from the chiropractor so blissfully happy to be discharged from chiropractic care. I felt like a kid who got a hard-earned A+ in algebra. My recovery was no small achievement, and I was so ecstatic over the prospect of not having to see my chiropractor next week.

I remember pulling into a left turn lane, and coming to a full stop. It was a lane governed by an advance turn light, and it was not uncommon for vehicles to be lined up waiting for a light. I looked up to rear view mirror. I saw a white van approaching, and I remember Sane Elsa saying to herself, “that van is not going to—WHACK!” My head flung forward and slapped back against the head rest. De-ja-vous. I couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t a joyful laugh. It was the laugh of an exhausted person treading the fine line of her own sanity. I exchanged my information with the lady, and was absolutely overjoyed by the woman’s sane proclamation that the accident was her fault and that she was so very sorry. Not Sane Elsa seemed to exchange her rage for delirium. She giggled, and accepted the woman’s apology more than graciously.

After the lady in the white van left, I got into my car, made a legal U-turn and headed straight back to my chiropractor. I laughed like a mad woman as I imagined what his facial expression might be.

 

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