Chapter 6: Operation Keep PT Down: My New Chevy Sonic with Turbo

The next day, I went to Penske Chevrolet alone. AS soon as I parked, a few salesmen hovered. I decided to wait until the song I was listening on the radio finished. Do it on my time. Don’t know anything about cars so I had to take the lead. Otherwise I would be lost. Finally, when I was good and ready (three songs later), I stepped out. The only salesman still waiting was the one that I wanted.

I had Gilberto show me every Chevy Sonic on the lot, even the ones in the back, marking the two that were manuals, a black sedan and fire engine red hatchback. I went back to the orange-red hatchback, which was on display, and asked to test drive. It had been a while since I had driven a manual. My rental was beginning to get on my nerves. So hard to switch lanes with a full-size automatic.

“It’s a stick,” Gilberto said.

“I know.” A ramp was retrieved to drive the Sonic off its dais. I got in the drivers’ side, Gilberto got in the passenger’s. I looked at the floor. There were three pedals. I was temporarily confused. “What’s the third pedal for?” I think Gilberto no longer wanted to take me for a test drive. “Are you worried?” I asked before pulling out. I decided not to think and just do. My feet did the talking and we were soon driving on the street. On the freeway, I noticed the Sonic made a high-pitched whirring noise. I was worried that the engine was straining. Besides that and the D-pillar, which was so wide it was hard to get a clear view when changing lanes, I was sold. It was just like my old Geo Metro, my very first car.

When we got back to the dealership, I looked at the sticker. It said “turbo $700”. I was trying to save money because my credit could barely carry a car, much less one with turbo. “Can I get the car without the turbo?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Gilberto. “I’ll have to ask my manager.” The manager came out.

“Sorry, but the car comes with the turbo.”

“Can you take it off?” I had to ask.

I decided on the Sonic and explained to Gilberto my position. No credit history. Starting a job as an attorney. Gilberto went to talk to the finance manager, Hamad. He came out. A smooth-talking enthusiastic Middle Eastern man. He shook my hand, asked me to fill out a credit form. After checking my credit, Hamad came out, “I’m sorry but given your lack of credit…” he did look sorry.

I had really wanted to drive in for my first day of work in a car of my own. I sighed, deciding to go across to the Nissan across the street when Hamad returned. He asked, “If we finance you, will you take the car home today?” I beamed.

Hours later, because it was so hard to understand all the fine print, I was driving home in my new Chevy Sonic metallic-inferno orange was the official color. I texted Steve a picture of my new Sonic.

Steve’s text: It’s pretty.

 My text: Wanna take it for a drive?
Steve: Sure!

Steve was surprised. “I didn’t know a Sonic was so fun to drive. It’s almost like driving a motorcycle,” he chuckled. “Large gears,” he mumbled. “It’s kind of high, you need some braces so that it doesn’t sway in the wind.” Steve went on like that for a while. Then we returned to his place. Alan and Macy were at after-school detention.

My cell phone was dying, so I looked for an outlet to charge it. The one by the front door was just behind the bunk-bed futon. Funny, the outlet was uncovered. The white moldings were messily painted, the white bled centimeters into the green wall paint. That was the odd thing about Steve’ entire place. Fine quality materials, slipshod workmanship, as if someone were rushing to get it done for renting.

After plugging in my charger and phone, I pulled a flash drive out of my purse. Steve had said he wanted to stop smoking so I brought a stop-smoking for him.

“What’s this?” Steve asked.

“A stop smoking program. You said you wanted to stop.” I smiled.

“Why are you giving me this?” he asked, seemingly suspicious.

“Because you said you wanted to stop smoking. I thought this would help.” I answered. Steve did not seem to believe me. I peered at Steve who was observing me for motivation.

How does someone become so suspicious?

Steven thanked me and put the flash drive in his pocket. Something told me that he would not be using it.

“So how did you like my new car? I’m worried about the high-pitched whirring noise when I go fast. It’s as if the car is straining.” Steve laughed. He explained the noise was the turbo eco jet. Steven explained it to me, talked about his car, and talked about some of his car ideas. He had a lot of ideas.

“Why don’t you patent your ideas?” I asked.

“what’s the use, everything I try to do something,” he shrugged not knowing how to explain. Then he brightened, “That’s why I want you to patent my inventions. I’ve got several dozen sketched. I felt uncomfortable.

“Why don’t you have one of your brothers file your patents for you. Doesn’t one of your brothers do IP?”

“I don’t trust him.” Steve said.

“Your brother?” I asked.

“I don’t trust anyone. But I trust you.” Now I really felt uncomfortable.

“Have you ever tried to patent something?” I asked.

“No, but I should, my ideas have been stolen a few times.” I considered Steve. He did not appear to have a persecution complex. He definitely had several complexes but a persecution complex was not one of them. However, there was something  about him, not emanating from him, but hovering around him somehow.

“Yeah, I’m not sure I want to get involved.” WE had only known each other a few days and Steve trusted me with his ideas that he did not even trust his family with? I was tired, so lounged on the futon. It was open, Alan slept there and did not close it before school. Steve played a tune that he composed. It was only a few bars along and he played it repetitively. We talked about things. Apparently the thing we had most in common was that we both had done some care-giving and were behind in our careers. Sorely behind. Badly behind. But I had just broken out of the motionless pit I had been stuck in for years. It felt good. Steve was taking notes. I didn’t know until a few days later when he told me he was studying me, that he was trying to jumpstart his life as well.

“Exactly how was our life so similar. I mean besides the caregiving. Lots of people are caregivers.” Steve could not directly answer that question himself. But what he did answer did sort of explain why he needed to jumpstart his life, if not how we had similar experiences.

-Steve’s father beat his children. It was as bad as it got. Steve was the youngest so took the brunt of it. His father would pull him up by Steve’s ears so that Steve had to hold his ears. This gave his father easy access to punch his son’s torso. Steve’s father liked to throw bricks at his children’s head, especially Steve’s. Steve had a particularly hard head, in all ways.  

-Despite 14 years training in martial arts, Steve let his exes beat up on him. Especially his last one, who broke his leg, dislocated his knee cap, broke his nose (three times), tried to choke him to death while he was sleeping to the shock of his sons. And Steve didn’t do anything about it.

 -Steve did a short stint homeless. Wasn’t his cup of tea for he was too prissy. His fierce fighting nature was more than balanced by a feminine side, which was why mannish women could take advantage of him.

I noticed that Steve did the dishes, and kept his place tidy, while Macy and Alan didn’t contribute. Steve especially liked to do the laundry, something we did have in common. Steve checked his phone. “Time to pick up the kids, wanna come?”

“Uh, isn’t your son going to mind?”

“Nah, he’s okay. He likes you a lot. He never likes any of the women in my life, especially my recent ex. He hated her. You’re so stable compared.” Isn’t everybody? I thought.

Driving there, Steve must have noticed my extreme discomfort. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“We’re almost at my son’s school,” he laughed.

At the school, we found the detention hall. Alan looked slightly surprised when he saw me. This wasn’t exactly the freedom that I had looked forward to now that I had finally jumpstarted my life again. I was single! Or so I thought. Little did I know that I was sinking into a situation like the previous others. Having to take care of someone long term, someone who could not even understand his own situation and thus, would often lash out in anger against the one person who had Job’s patience to help him out of his hopeless situation.

It’s very frustrating helping someone who cannot help themself. Then blames you for hurting him when in fact you are helping them, because sometimes getting better hurts. And the more you have to go to reach clarity, stability and health, the more it hurts. Oy ve, why do I even try sometimes. Why didn’t I just run away like everyone else? Steve wasn’t helpable. Even before I understood the exact nature of Steve’s problems, I knew it was going to be a long haul.

Long haul was an understatement.