Free Something Right Behind Her by Claire Hollander

a sweater outside. The trees were all getting
super-colorful, which always put me in a good mood. I felt almost carefree,
except for a nagging little worry about parking. Dad had said something about
going down to Mt. Karmel station instead of the one in town - something about
more meters there, but I wasn’t listening really and didn’t remember that until
I got to the Bedford station. I had about ten minutes before the train came so,
when I saw there weren’t all that many spaces I kind of freaked and cut in
really close to this other car where there wasn’t a meter. I was scared I’d
scrape the car next to where I was pulling in. The only problem was I didn’t
see the tree. I heard a terrible crunching sound, and then a bunch of people up
on the platform waiting for the train stared down at me, shaking their heads.
This one guy, who looked like a day-laborer, in working-guy clothes, grabbed
his hair with both hands, like I was driving his car or something. I am such a
shitty driver it’s actually amazing that my parents still let me drive.
    Being me, I was
so freaked out about possibly missing the train, I left the damn car there and
went to get my ticket. I purposely walked down to the platform you couldn’t see
my car from, just in case one of those spectators wanted to give me a lecture
about how to park without crushing the front bumper. I did a quick check of the
front end before making my getaway and it seemed like the damage was just to
the bumper - not something my parents would bother to fix, but still, pretty
damn lame. Once I got up on the platform, I found a bench to sit on and put my
head in my hands. I tried slowing down my breathing and thinking the way Randy
says to think. Don’t beat yourself up about something you can’t undo. I channeled his
fakey-calm voice. Be in the moment. Be thankful and invested. I was
definitely thankful I didn’t hit someone else’s car, because if I had, leaving
the scene without fessing up to it would be some sort of minor crime. I was
also definitely invested in getting the hell out of that train station without
talking to any of those idiots who watched me park into the goddamn tree.
Hopefully, none of them knew my parents or they’d be on their cell phones to
them right then.
    I made a
conscious decision not to call my Mom or Dad. I was actually considering not
telling either one of them, and just letting them see the bumper one day like a
week later. I could feign innocence, act like someone must’ve backed into me.
That way I could still keep the day as I had envisioned it: nice lunch, some
shopping, come home. I didn’t even have a lot of homework for once.
    I felt calmer
when I thought things through this way. My parents pretty much thought I was
flipping out anyway, so what was the problem with giving them a little more
ammunition? I’d promise to talk to Randy about my “impulsivity-issues” and blah
blah.
    The wind had
really kicked up at that point and I was starting to freeze my butt off in just
my peacoat, with no gloves or hat. The weather had taken a sudden turn, like
fall was trying to jump-start right into winter. Thankfully, the train came and
I got on and found a window seat facing the right direction. If I face
backward, I get motion-sickness, which was the last thing I needed since my
head was already spinning.
    I opened my book
and started to feel kind of normal, considering. I had managed to put the sad-looking
bumper almost completely out of my mind, until my cell phone rang. The
day-laborer-looking guy was Pedro the gardening guru of Bedford. He was,
apparently, the guy who my Mom met with the day before to go over the plans for
her new organic vegetable garden. My Mom is all about fitness and food and
eating local and all that, which was cool with me until this moment when I
found out Pedro had nothing better to do while waiting for his train then to
call my Mom. The first thing I thought was “Why doesn’t Pedro drive a truck,
like