I walk down 7th Avenue in a stumbling state. It takes effort to remember to put one foot in front of the other. Negotiating stairs is a whole other thing. “She said use the railings…” so I do, and try not to worry about all the germs.
I think of a friend’s perfectly healthy mother who tripped on a rug and fell headlong into the corner of her hallway, broke her neck, and died. We are delicately waterous: held together with a trinket bag of bones and a handful of fleshy mounds and expandable Os. So easily punctured. So easily torqued.
Earlier today, a shirtless young man flew by me at rocket speed on his motorcycle on the upper levels highway. He had a nice muscled young V with flame tattoos. Is he an idiot or a realist? A leather jacket isn’t going to do much for him if he trips on a rug right now. Might as well enjoy the sensation of wind on skin on the hottest day of the year so far. Life is short. He is young. As I watched him speed away, my car started to screech a high pitched whirling wheeze and something under the hood went CLUNK and stuck.
That is why I am on foot to and from my appointment.
Near Cambie I decide to pop into a cafe for a snack and a sit. I eavesdrop on a Mom and daughter. The Mom is a well appointed woman in a high end wheel chair. The daughter assures her, “It’s no trouble, Mum, no trouble at all. We can take you to Salt Spring”. I smile. We all know that’s a six ferry day. We all know that’s love.
Fellow phones. “Where are you? Can I get you?” But his car is in the shop and so is mine. They both blew up at the same time. “That’s okay, honey. I’m sure you have things to do. I’ll just walk. It feels good.”
“Call me and I can meet you. It’s an intense treatment” He says.
Is it? All she did was stare at me a lot and gently play around with my coconut. I even fell asleep. I know this because I woke up three times mid snort. But something happened. That’s for sure. I could feel the inside of my head move! It was the creepiest thing. I feel, now, literally, physically, like my mind is at ease. This is a little unnerving. What’s my personality if my head is screwed on straight?! Maybe I won’t be so forgetful. Maybe I will write stronger plot lines. Nerve endings tingle. I have to rethink, recalibrate, everything. Apparently three concussions does something to the grey matter. Now, what did she say? Something about the outer brain lodged to the left and stuck to the middle brain and my cauliflowers being violently twisted?
“Tell me about the concussions” she had said.
“Cleaning under a piano. Hospitalized. Another time I dropped a coin under a parking meter, stood up and clunk. Hospitalized. The last one, I was running backstage in high heels to make a quick entrance. Pacific Theatre has very low ceilings in their voms. I hit my head so hard on the overhang, I actually fell backwards onto my bum. I couldn’t see out of one eye very well…I don’t know how I finished the show…I suspect I was a little off.”
“That explains a lot.”
If I didn’t know better, I would think this was all make believe. How can someone move a brain? How can a brain be moved? How can anything happen at all when I am handled so gently? Fellow is no chump. He has no time for woo woo blah blah blah, but being an RMT, among other things, he’s a big believer in craniosacral therapy. Now that I have benefits, I can investigate all sorts of things, so…
I just visited the incredible Maya Bleiler at Broadway Wellness for my first treatment.
She was kind, she was incredibly sharp, intuitive, and she was no nonsense. My Fellow says, “She’s amazing. Simply one of the best.”
My snack is done. I decide I have eavesdropped enough at the cafe and start walking again. Mini Cooper auto repair calls with devastating news while I round the bend at Science World along the seawall. At least it’s a beautiful place to sit down with the blow and find some shade for my emerging sunburn.
Handsome Matt with the European accent I can’t place, tells me my radiator and thermostat are completely shot, so is my fan. The technicians fear that I may have a damaged motor. They won’t know for sure until they replace the radiator, thermostat and fan, a $2000.00 venture, and run the car for a while. The cost of a new motor will be $12,000.00 and the car is only “worth” $850 or so, because right now it’s only good for parts.
I am shocked. We are talking about my Mini the Blue. We are taking about a gorgeous well maintained sports car that still manages to turn heads! So what if she’s put on a few miles?! So what if she’s getting old?! You don’t just throw such a beauty away because she’s starting to break down a little. Handsome Matt kindly explains, “Of course, some people repair their Minis for sentimental reasons…even though financially it doesn’t make sense…”
Hmph! How can I not take this personally?! How can I not find this ethically repugnant?!
“But Matt, we don’t know if the motor is shot now, do we?”
“No, it’s a guess, based on the way it was sounding when it was running…they think it may have been damaged by overheating…”
“But it’s still a guess..”
“Yes. But you’d have to spend a lot of money to find out if the guess is correct. The choice is yours. I felt I had to be honest with you.”
“Can’t we just put in the new parts, see if the motor is broken and then I return the parts because they’re not used?”
“Oh, but they would be used, even if only for half an hour, we can’t take the parts back. It’s an insurance thing.”
“But I could find another buyer?”
Matt hums sympathetically on the phone. He can hear my desperation.
“Hmm. Why don’t you think about it?”
With great hubris I say, “Tell the technicians to put the new parts in. I think my car has a lot of life left. She’s full of pep. I think my engine is GREAT!”
“You’re sure.”
“Yes!”
“Okay…we should know by five o’ clock today. Um. Good luck.”
I keep walking, under the Skytrain for shade, along Terminal. Right now I am not digging that name.
Last week I auditioned for a commercial spot. I was dressed in my black suit, selling shoes, I thought I looked quite smart. Well, I booked it, but they re-imagined me for another part. When I went in for the costume fitting I was given plaid pants, a frumpy pink sweater set and a cat necklace. I kid you not.
On one hand, I am very pleased I have successfully transitioned from” MILF with a drinking problem” to “sweet chubby middle-aged woman with grand kids who owns cats” because it means I am getting work. On the other hand I HAVE TRANSITIONED TO THE WOMAN WITH GRAND KIDS WHO OWNS CATS!!!!!! What?!?!?!
I have a little waking nightmare: jury committee for script selection. All young diverse artists dressed incredibly well who don’t believe in plays that have text. One holds up my latest and sneers, ” I’m sorry, but girl please, your time has come and gone, do us all a favour and stop writing and please get off stage.”
I pop back into reality and snort. I say out loud, “Lucia, that is such bullshit. Relevance has nothing to do with youth. Nobody’s hotter than Kim Collier. Nobody’s hotter than Norman Armour. So, take off the mental cat necklace and f’ing throw it away!”
This must be Maya’s work. This new clarity. Oh yeah. My brain is floating freely now. Just wait world, just wait!
I get home, grab a glass of water and head out again to walk the dog. I dream of the next big idea. I dream of the next ten pounds. I dream of vintage plates and designer gowns.
Mini Cooper Matt calls. In his elegant European accent he says,
“Lucia, I have some bad news, are you sitting down?”
I stop in my tracks while Tartuffe takes the opportunity to piss on my neighbour’s peonies.
“oh no.”
He chuckles, the brat.
“Your motor is great. You were right. She’s running just fine! Good call!” 
So happy this was a happy ending! I love minis – drove mine from Ontario to the Yukon in 1975. My brother has a lovely one right now and he called a while ago to tell me he has left it to me in his will. Is it wrong to pray ….??
lol Marcia! I know, I want to drive Mini the Blue until I die and then leave it for my daughter. They are great cars.