The Gas Station

It had been less than a week after my being served for divorce on the grounds of mental cruelty without provocation. I was having absolutely no problem with the idea of a divorce; I had, after all, been abandoned with a twelve year old child. I was having no problem with the process server, she and I had a lovely chat on the porch, probably sparked by my immediate laughter at the audacity of the ex-to-be and the total absurdity of my situation.

I was, however, having a bit of a problem with it being yours truly accused of the mental cruelty. I scoured my memory for a cause, but already knew the answer before I even started. I had, in a recent conversation, told the now sooner-to-be-ex not to take anymore of our son’s Social Security money, as he still did, as he always had, lived with me.

I had also expressed an extreme displeasure with the latest paramour’s presence at their last visitation as well as a proposed meeting of offspring during the next. The marriage was still valid and in effect, at least it was according to the bank and insurance company. Cold, callous, and heartless am I.

No longer numb, and well past irate, I was now fuming as I pulled into a gas station to pick up some smokes. This place had a three pack special which kept the per pack price down to within pennies of carton prices. Given my rather shaky finances at the time, I figured I would probably need to at least curtail, if not cease entirely, my favorite vice for monetary reasons alone.

I spotted what had been once "our" car at the back corner of the lot by the air pump. "Nope, not yet," I thought as I spun the steering wheel and whipped back onto the street at a better than fair clip, crossing three lanes of traffic to get into one of the left turn lanes.

A passing state trooper seemed to be not at all impressed by my display of high performance driving skills and use of proficient heel-toe action in a service van onto a busy thoroughfare. He followed me and pulled up alongside me to my left rolling down his passenger side window as we both slowed for the red light. Before he could speak, but well after I could feel his glare, the guy behind me started flashing his lights and honking.

"Hey," he yelled, leaning his head out the window.

Apparently, I was the center of attention; not exactly a place I preferred to be at that particular moment.

"Yeah?" I answered, sticking my head out the window and looking back.

"Did you forget something back there?"

"Not that I know of."

"There was some lady back at that gas station chasing after you and waving her arms."

"That’s my soon to be ex-wife. I’m just really, really, really not in the mood to deal with her silly ass right now. But thanks."

"I see," he said as he started laughing. "Been there."

I thought I heard a faint chuckle from the trooper as he started looking down, shaking his head and rolled his window back up. He must have figured I already had enough on my plate as it was and didn’t need any more, at least from him. He was right.

The boss’s boss, apparently not having enough to do up in the main office, was spending a lot of time in back micro-mismanaging. Today, as usual, he was looking at the world through vodka tinted glasses and right on top of the situation, thrusting with feverish abandon. I knew I wouldn’t get a chuckle from him when I got back to the shop, but more likely some completely inconsequential or futile errand to some remote part of the state.

The arrow mercifully turned green and I was on my way, thinking I had just dodged two bullets in as many minutes. I was wrong, and realized my mistake as the cell phone rang seconds later, displaying the same number I had been ignoring for the last ten minutes. Sighing deeply, I answered it this time.

"Hello."

"Thank God. I’ve been trying to get you for a while now. Hey, the car has a flat and I have a busy one today. Was that you back here at the gas station? Are you still in town?"

I was dumbfounded. The woman who abandoned me and is suing me for mental cruelty now not only wants, but expects, me to change a tire for her. Why didn’t she call her boyfriend? I was so shocked and in awe, I couldn’t even refuse, much less say a quick "go to hell", and made my way back to the station.

The car was still by the air pump when I pulled back into the lot. Kathy had already jacked it up and was trying to take off the lug nuts. The tire was not only flat, it was shredded beyond repair as it spun in her efforts.

"It won’t keep any air in it. Is this how you do it?"

"Lower the car before you loosen the nuts, then raise it to take off the wheel."

"Oh."

I lowered the car and started loosening the nuts, wondering why I was doing it for her but also knowing it was just out of pure habit.

"You need to buy me new tires."

I stopped what I was doing and stood up to face her.

"You’re suing me and you want me to buy you tires?"

"Oh, you know about that.... I’m not suing you, it’s just for the divorce."

"Yeah, I know about it. What would you call it?"

"Does Luke know?"

"Well, he was standing next to me on the porch."

"They served you at home?"

"Where else would they find me?"

"I thought they would serve you at work or something."

"I’m never there, where would they catch me?"

Kathy looked at me for a second and started working on changing the tire.

"Watch your wrist. I’ll get it."

"I got it."

"Fine," I said and went inside to get my smokes.