When David finally came back to his senses, he noticed one thing: whoever it was that had crashed into his car was long gone.
In their wake, remained what once had been David's faithful sedan. While a good portion of the driver's side of the vehicle was intact, almost all of the passenger's side was beyond repair. The rear bumper now resided around where the passenger seat should have been, while pieces of both windshields now decorated the street. The passenger side mirror laid in a twisted heap some distance down the road.
"David," came Gwen's voice, sounding small and distorted, even though she was still on speaker phone. He looked at the device in his hand, for a long second, before bringing it closer to his face. The distant sound of sirens barely registered with him.
"Yeah, Gwen?" he asked softly, turning and letting the curtain fall back over the window.
She paused before answering, eventually letting her voice settle into the same subdued tone as his, "What just happened?"
"My... my car just got... totaled," he answered, shock coloring his words. Even as the words left his lips, the ramifications failed to sink into his brain. Instead, his brain found itself stuck in a loop. One second everything had been fine. The next, he was staring at an absolute wreck of a vehicle.
He leaned back slightly, feeling his lower back settle against the windowsill and curtain. He blinked rapidly, brain still reeling. David felt the hand holding his phone lower a little.
"Were you in it?" She asked in an even voice. Startled, his hand jerked upwards, back towards his collarbone, where he had been holding the phone to answer Gwen's other question.
Shaking his head, David tried to shake himself out of his shock. He thought about Gwen's question, about both the words and her tone. That was the tone she used when bracing herself for an answer she didn't want to hear. David imagined that she was envisioning him, trapped in his car- maybe in his final minutes- somewhere far from anywhere she could possibly provide help.
The thought was terrifying.
"No. No, I'm fine," he assured.
The sound of sirens grew louder, but David didn't move. Instead, he leaned back a little more, still being somewhat careful of the window—thankfully closed—behind him. He felt the back of his head knock very lightly against the curtain covered glass. He shut his eyes, but kept his phone at an appropriate height for conversation.
Soon after, he heard Gwen let out a large breath. "Good. Thank god for small miracles."
His lips quirked up slightly, although there was no humor in the situation. Small miracles indeed…
His and Gwen's call didn't last very long after he assured her that he was alright. Afterwards, David made his way downstairs, after taking a moment to slip into some thick soled shoes. He spoke to a pair of officers about the incident and what he had seen—which wasn't a lot. He filed a police report, but as David had assumed, there was likely little the police could do. He was given a document with information to give to his insurance, along with a promise of a much more official report to be sent soon.
After returning to his apartment, David made himself a cup of tea, and tried to contact his insurance company. It took a very long time to get connected to a living person. It took longer to sort through the details of just exactly what had happened. In David's opinion—and he wondered if maybe he was channeling a certain pre-teen he knew—the process took somewhere between too long and absolutely ridiculous, and left David absolutely exhausted. Thankfully, he wasn't scheduled for work the following day. So, upon hanging up, David stumbled into his bedroom, shut the blinds, and fell into bed still dressed.
However, waking up, he only felt marginally better. He knew he still had to see about repairs—if in fact they were even possible, which he doubted—, look into alternate transportation to and from work, and relay the entire situation to his boss. The thought of spending his limited free time in such a way put a damper on David's already subdued mood.
He hoped he would feel a little better once everything had been sorted out.
Making his way into the bathroom, he chanced a glance at the mirror. Had he more energy, he would have recoiled. Instead, he shucked off the previous day's clothes, stepped into the shower, and worked on mentally preparing himself for the day ahead. He only got out once there was no more hot water.
Then, he focused on scrounging up some breakfast, even though he wasn't all that hungry. He settled on some toast and a strong cup of tea. Spreading some strawberry jam on his toast, David thought about the contents of his savings account. He estimated the cost of repairs—making sure to highball the figures—and compared them to the costs of both a new and used car. While he did have the bare minimum of emergency savings, a sum covering about three months' worth of expenses, he doubted it was enough. Anyway David looked at it, he was going to get into serious debt.
He let his head hit the counter.
Repeatedly.
Then, the first half of the afternoon was spent arranging transport to the mechanic, followed by the junkyard, for his poor mess of a car. Being laughed out of the garage had left David feeling a little agitated, so when the junkyard offered him five-hundred dollars, he was all too happy to accept it and head home.
The second half was spent trying to contact his boss. He tried the company line—which went straight to voicemail to no one's surprise. He tried calling his boss' cellphone as well, though that one didn't have a voicemail option. He even tried calling his boss at home, but only ended up talking to the man's three year old daughter—who hung up on him. Twice.
Sighing, David put his cellphone on the counter. He decided he would try again after eating a little something. He focused his attention on looking through his cabinets, which to his dismay did not contain much. He would need to visit the supermarket soon, he realized and winced. Without a car, something as simple as grocery shopping was going to become much harder.
He grabbed a frying pan from the cabinet above the stove and checked his small refrigerator. He took out a stick of butter and some sliced cheese. Checking the expiration date, he noticed the cheese was a day past the date. He shrugged and opened the deli paper. It looked fine, so he placed it on the counter, turning towards another cabinet in search of bread.
There were four slices left.
He decided to use all of them.
Making the grilled cheese sandwiches didn't take long. Once they were plated, David poured himself a glass of milk and sat back at the counter to eat. Halfway through his second sandwich, his phone started to vibrate.
Swallowing, he answered, not bothering to check the caller ID.
"Hello?" he asked, sipping his milk.
"Hey, lame ass."
"Oh, hey Max," he started as he put the glass down, "It's not really a good time, right now."
"Oh… OH! Damn, you got a woman over or something? Look at you," the boy teased.
"What? No!"
"…A man?"
"No, no. That's not it," David answered, picking up his sandwich for a brief second, before putting it down again. He wasn't hungry anymore. "I'm just having a bad day; a really, really bad day. I don't think I'll be such a fun person to talk to right now. And I'm also sort of waiting on a call…"
"Wow," Max replied, sounding a bit concerned, "What happened?"
"My car got totaled," he said for what felt like the thousandth time that day.
There was silence, followed by, "Were you in it?"
Both of David's eyebrows rose slightly. That almost sounded concerned. Before he could think any more about it, a memory surfaced. For just a moment, David was reminded of an incident two summers ago.
It wasn't probable.
But it wasn't impossible…
"No, but Max, where are you right now?"
"Now? In my room, at my desk. I'm supposed to be studying," he replied. David could faintly hear what sounded like rap coming over the speaker, although the volume seemed to be quite low.
"And you haven't been… driving at all, have you?" David asked, feeling a little silly.
"No, why would I—you think I wrecked your car?!"
"I'm just asking."
"Well, fuck you! I've got better things to do then-"
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I was just asking," David took another sip of milk to fill the silence. "Look, I'm sorry for accusing you of destroying my car. Like I said, I'm not a good conversationalist right now."
David swirled the milk around his glass while he waited for Max to respond. It took a while, but Max eventually did, "David, you suck at accusing people of stuff. I… overreacted."
"Max…"
"Anyway," Max cut in, turning the music down even lower, "What are you going to do about your car? Can you fix it?"
"I sold it for scrap. Unfortunately, it was too badly damaged. Hit and run destroyed the entire passenger side. I did try bringing it to the mechanic, though," he said bitterly.
"And what did the mechanic have to say?" the boy asked, sounding genuinely invested.
"He laughed in my face. Told me he was good, but even he couldn't perform miracles."
"You should've punched him in the face," Max replied, sagely.
"Believe me, the temptation was there," David added with a slight smirk, although at the time, he had wanted to cry in frustration. But Max didn't need to know that.
"Oh boy, I've seen you punch someone's lights out—and even use a chair!" Max sounded very amused at the memory. If David was to guess, he would imagine a grin on the twelve year old's face.
"Yeah, that wasn't the best way to handle the situation…"
"So, do as I say, not as I do, right?" Max snickered, "So, you junked your car. Now what? Are you going to buy a new one? You should get a hydraulic suspension put in so it bounces when you listen to music."
David imagined rolling up to work in a bouncing car. The idea got a chuckle out of him.
"Did you decide what color you're going to get—who am I kidding?—it'll probably be some god-fucking-awful shade of yellow," the boy added. David winced.
"Why yellow?" he had to ask.
"Isn't that your favorite color?"
David blinked, "I'm more partial to greens and blues, actually."
"Really? Huh… Good to know, I guess."
"But to answer your question, that's what I'm trying to figure out. I don't have enough money to buy a new car. A used car might be an option, if I can find someone who has one they're willing to let go of, and it's within my price range," David said before finishing off his milk and looking at the remainder of his sandwich. It was practically untouched.
He decided he would wrap it in foil and throw it into the fridge. He could eat it with a can of soup later.
"What exactly is your price range?" Max asked as David fished the roll of foil out of a draw.
"Between seven hundred and two thousand, though I know that anything in that price range is going to be—let's just say—a bit…" David put the phone on speaker, placed it on the counter, and began to wrap the sandwich.
"A piece of shit?" Max added, helpfully. David nodded, opening the fridge.
"I was going to say garbage," He put the sandwich on the top shelf, next to the milk, "But I guess that works too."
He smiled at the shout of triumph that came from the other end of the line.
"I just need something to get me too and from work until I can either afford a better car or to fix up that one. That should only take a few months, so long as nothing else comes up," he continued, picking up his phone, and walking into his bedroom.
On a small Ikea desk was David's old laptop. It was almost as old as dirt, as it had been a gift from his parents when he graduated college, but it still worked fine for general internet browsing and other daily tasks. He booted it up, "I'm going to look around on Craigslist for people in my area, maybe call around a bit tomorrow. I'd like to find something by Monday, but realistically…"
David opened a draw and rummaged around for a USB cable. Finding one, he plugged it into his phone, and then his computer. This way, he didn't have to worry about a dead battery mid-call.
"What about a loan? Then you don't need to buy a junker," Max asked. Over the line, David could hear Max typing something at his keyboard. He guessed study time was officially over.
"My credit's not exactly the best…" he trailed off. After imputing his password, David waited for the desktop to load, before opening up Internet Explorer.
"I'm surprised, David. You don't seem the type." Max sounded honestly surprised. There was more typing, a few mouse clicks, and the sound of a pencil eraser tapping against a desk?
"I'm not," David opened his bookmarks and clicked on Craigslist. He then set about looking for used car listings, "But my credit score was ruin after Mr. Campbell opened all those credit cards and put half of the camp in my name. The debt was all wiped clean after the trial, and I didn't have to pay any of it back, but it still left a mark on my credit rating.
"It didn't help that I had very little credit or debt of my own before all that," he explained nonchalantly. What was done was done, he figured.
David heard Max take a sharp breath.
"That bastard," David was taken aback by the pure venom in the word. Fingers froze over the keyboard and touchpad.
"And you aren't even mad?" Max exploded.
"If I were you I'd be so pissed off, I'd…" he couldn't even finish the sentence.
David imagined Max, with his fists clenched tight, almost shaking in rage. The thought stirred something in him. He had never expected—or even imagined—Max being so indignant over anything having to do with himself. It was almost nice.
"I… I was, for a very long time after the trial," he answered honestly, letting his fingers relax. "I was so hurt and disappointed. And very angry. It took a while, and a lot of late night talks with Gwen and my parents, but I moved on."
David nodded to himself, opening a few links as new tabs. It did take him a long time before the hurt faded into something duller, "I'm not saying it was easy, or that it was okay—what he did—but I refuse to let it define my life. I have better things to do than be bitter and angry, Max."