I had intended to take my mom's car instead mainly because I'd left a CD inside that I was in the mood to play. I locked the front door and turned my back when I realised I'd forgotten to grab the keys to her car. Oh well, guess I'll just take my dad's car.
The drive to Kota Damansara was not unlike any other. Music was blaring, dad had topped up the power steering fluid so the steering wheel felt much lighter, roads were uneven and scattered with potholes; not anything I wasn't used to. I was on the way to pick up a friend from an apartment building I had never been to. Since working in KL, I'd developed a strange liking for exploring the unfamiliar; getting lost was two-thirds the fun, finding my way spelt victory like no other. So I wasn't really worried (or paying attention) when he gave me the directions. I can still remember vaguely him telling me about a roundabout.
I got lost for a bit, called the friend for further clarification, and was on my way in the right direction. He said go straight all the way to the end. The road was long and lined with intermittent lampposts. The air was warm causing a fog on the windscreen. I flicked the wipers on. "Shit." I had reminded myself over and over again to get my wipers replaced, and forgot to that many times over. The screen was blurry with smudged moisture, and I'd reached the end of the lit street. I was entering into a stretch of darkness, and a spotlight from straight ahead was causing a bad glare on my windscreen. I was driving blind for a few moments. The water smudges began to dry a little bit, and then I saw it. A band of red. "SHIT." Swerve, break, bang, suspend, land, swerve, break, stop. There in the foggy reflection on my rearview mirror was the roundabout with the rim of its curb painted red. Tiny and seemingly useless.
So many thoughts ran through my mind. So many inappropriate thoughts. I imagined myself getting away unscathed. I imagined hitting a tree and getting propelled out of the car and into a patch of broken glass. I imagined my bonnet bursting into flames as it hit the tarmac. I imagined crumpled metal and broken axles. I imagined telling my dad that the car was stolen. I imagined wishing the car had been sold like we had planned to initially. I imagined my dad's face rising and falling in anger and anguish. My dad's gonna kill me.
I didn't think I would still be saying those words twenty-four years into life. I felt like a kid again getting caught walking the halls of KLCC when I really should have been in school. "My dad's gonna kill me" was a phrase I used repeatedly when I was in high school and was constantly finding myself in troublesome predicaments. But what sets the kids and the grownups apart is the ability to stay grounded even though overwhelmed with the allure of running away. I would've lied my way out of any troubling situation when I was fifteen. Heck, I was lying my way out when I was twenty! Come to think of it, I still do sometimes, but at least I try to live up to a certain standard when it really counts. Honesty and sincere remorse reaped just about as much ill-feeling as a cover-up would've, but at least the honest story didn't pile-on guilt, on top of all the crazy anxiety I was already experiencing.
On further reflection, leaving the house without my mom's car keys was an unforeseen stroke of luck. Switching between cars because of a CD and absentmindedness may very well have saved me from greater injury both mental and physical. My dad's car is the bigger of the two, and bears larger tyres thus they absorbed a lot more of the impact. No crumpled metal, no broken glass, no punctured tubes or tanks. Only two torn tyres, a bent axle, and a shattered confidence.
Well, my new year's off to a great start won't you say?
The drive to Kota Damansara was not unlike any other. Music was blaring, dad had topped up the power steering fluid so the steering wheel felt much lighter, roads were uneven and scattered with potholes; not anything I wasn't used to. I was on the way to pick up a friend from an apartment building I had never been to. Since working in KL, I'd developed a strange liking for exploring the unfamiliar; getting lost was two-thirds the fun, finding my way spelt victory like no other. So I wasn't really worried (or paying attention) when he gave me the directions. I can still remember vaguely him telling me about a roundabout.
I got lost for a bit, called the friend for further clarification, and was on my way in the right direction. He said go straight all the way to the end. The road was long and lined with intermittent lampposts. The air was warm causing a fog on the windscreen. I flicked the wipers on. "Shit." I had reminded myself over and over again to get my wipers replaced, and forgot to that many times over. The screen was blurry with smudged moisture, and I'd reached the end of the lit street. I was entering into a stretch of darkness, and a spotlight from straight ahead was causing a bad glare on my windscreen. I was driving blind for a few moments. The water smudges began to dry a little bit, and then I saw it. A band of red. "SHIT." Swerve, break, bang, suspend, land, swerve, break, stop. There in the foggy reflection on my rearview mirror was the roundabout with the rim of its curb painted red. Tiny and seemingly useless.
So many thoughts ran through my mind. So many inappropriate thoughts. I imagined myself getting away unscathed. I imagined hitting a tree and getting propelled out of the car and into a patch of broken glass. I imagined my bonnet bursting into flames as it hit the tarmac. I imagined crumpled metal and broken axles. I imagined telling my dad that the car was stolen. I imagined wishing the car had been sold like we had planned to initially. I imagined my dad's face rising and falling in anger and anguish. My dad's gonna kill me.
I didn't think I would still be saying those words twenty-four years into life. I felt like a kid again getting caught walking the halls of KLCC when I really should have been in school. "My dad's gonna kill me" was a phrase I used repeatedly when I was in high school and was constantly finding myself in troublesome predicaments. But what sets the kids and the grownups apart is the ability to stay grounded even though overwhelmed with the allure of running away. I would've lied my way out of any troubling situation when I was fifteen. Heck, I was lying my way out when I was twenty! Come to think of it, I still do sometimes, but at least I try to live up to a certain standard when it really counts. Honesty and sincere remorse reaped just about as much ill-feeling as a cover-up would've, but at least the honest story didn't pile-on guilt, on top of all the crazy anxiety I was already experiencing.
On further reflection, leaving the house without my mom's car keys was an unforeseen stroke of luck. Switching between cars because of a CD and absentmindedness may very well have saved me from greater injury both mental and physical. My dad's car is the bigger of the two, and bears larger tyres thus they absorbed a lot more of the impact. No crumpled metal, no broken glass, no punctured tubes or tanks. Only two torn tyres, a bent axle, and a shattered confidence.
Well, my new year's off to a great start won't you say?
