There I was, on vacation, down at the lake with some high school classmates, watching the sunset and catching up on 30+ years of life. I was slugging down diet Mountain Dews while they drank Bud. Being 12 years sober, I was (and always am) the designated driver.
But after two Mountain Dews I could not drive. The 23-year-old Saab convertible I was driving would not start. Apparently, I left something on – probably the stereo. I stood silent on the dirt road as one classmate – now a prominent lawyer – and another classmate – a successful business owner – tried to jump the damn thing.
Seeing as how I was the only sober member of the Class of 77 trying to start the damn thing, I though about offering to RTFM (Read The Freakin’ Manual) and do it myself. However, I have spent enough time around men and beer to know when to shut up.
So, I shut up and shriveled up in the backseat. That masochistic loop that I have not heard in a long time, started playing in my head: “What a loser. How could you leave the stereo on? You have ruined the entire evening. These guys are really mad, they’re just pretending to be kind. You are such a loser. We’re going to have to leave this car here all night – with the top down – because of you.” Then I start apologizing and I sound even more pathetic.
Just like the old days – when that tape played everyday in my head – I wanted to go home, get into bed, pull the covers over my head and curl myself up in the tightest fetal position possible. I am 50+ years old and I felt like I was 10-years-old again.
“IT’S A DEAD BATTERY, CHRIS! GET A FREAKIN’ GRIP!”
Another voice shouts in my head. Back and forth it goes until I decide to remedy the situation by getting up early, walking to the car, calling AAA, getting a jump and driving back before anyone wakes up.
This is how I still beat myself up. Despite all the therapy, meetings, medications, self-help books, awards and compliments – it only takes a dead battery to make my world go dark. In the old days, I would stay 10-years-old for days and convince myself that I was a loser and it was stuff like this that explained why the cool kids didn’t like me. Luckily, today I have the sense to shake it off : “IT’S ONLY A DEAD BATTERY, CHRIS!”
Besides, the nice AAA guy got laugh out of it: A 51-year-old woman in a dew drenched convertible with the top down, trying to start a 23-year-old SAAB with a screw driver (the ignition doesn’t work).
The car started right up and I drove off into the sunrise with the stereo blaring.
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