Third Time's a Charm

The first time, I panic. And cry. Kim comes down from her apartment on 6th and keeps me company until the police come. I lament my lost Indigo Girls and the CD player that leaves a gaping hole in the dash front.

The second time, I am annoyed. The water meter cover through the window that destroys the console and causes like $1,500 worth of damage to the car is worse than some of the wrecks I've had. I am comforted only by the poetic justice of knowing that the perps made off with two bags of garbage from my trunk.

The third time, I wonder what the universe is trying to tell me. What is it, I wonder, that I've done to end up sitting in my car again amidst shattered glass waiting for the five-o.

On my way to the car today, I call Kim and I get her voicemail and I say, "Hey, man. I just left the office and I'm getting in the car and...oh...my car's been broken into. There's glass everywhere. I gotta call the cops. I'll call you back." This might surpass the strangeness of the time I told her I was having an allergic reaction and would have to call her back.

I stand out on the sidewalk after calling 911 to wait for the patrol unit headed my way. I call Mom. She's with Anna, who's giving out the scholarship in Ronnie's memory at the local high school. She wants to send Dad home immediately. I say no.

It's hot. My boss comes out and stands with me until the policeman arrives. He's stocky, military haircut, tattoo under his left sleeve. I run through the scenario - I've done this before - and tell him nothing's been taken. The perp didn't even get in the car; all doors were still locked.

The cop asks me, "Angry boyfriend?" I laugh, rather loudly. And then I realized he's serious. "Um, no."

"Anyone else?" I know he has to ask these questions; I mean, that's his job. But the laughableness of it.

"No," I say. "I can't think of anyone who..." Would hurt me? That sounds so Lifetime. Who would do this to me? Total victim. Very 90210. "...who would...be mad at me...like this." Okay, so that totally doesn't make sense, but it was the best I had.

I had a list of things I was going to do when I got home to help Mom around the house. Instead, I fashioned a window out of Saran Wrap and masking tape and cleaned roughly five pounds of glass shards out of my car.

If this was six months ago, I'd no doubt be rather hysterical over the attack on my car. But after a moment in which I said something really maudlin to my mom (thank God the phone cut out), I realized when I called her back that this is small. In the grand scheme of things, it's a few thousand shards of glass.