What Happened After I Wrecked My Car.

10:45 driving home from a friend’s house Saturday night I wrecked my car.  I am 29 years old and have never been a wreck before.

I was freaking out.  I called my ex and told him he needed to get there- Now.  He doesn’t have a car yet but he found a way there.

He kept calling me back and asking me questions.  What happened? Where are you? Whose fault was it? Where was I parked now?

The questions never seemed to end.

Then he asked the big question.

Can you drive the car?

The answer was a resounding “Nope.”

I wasn’t sure what was wrong, but it took all I could to get my car in the parking lot where my ex eventually found me.

By this point the cop has shown up and done nothing, the guy I hit and I had exchanged information. I had photographed not only his car but mine and had already gotten in touch with my grandfather and father.  My mother didn’t answer so I text her.

Everyone was worried about me, physically I was fine. Emotionally I was trying so very hard not to cry.

My ex had a friend look at the car, and he told me some technical mechanic terms but basically…I need a new tie rod. He then explained what those are.  I can’t even try so if you really need to know. Ask Lord Google.

Let’s fast forward to Sunday morning and my friend George* because the only thing that is left is me crying at two a.m. while eating ice cream out of the carton. 

When he heard about my wreck, being that he is very mechanically inclined he offered to help.  The part he said was about $60 and he could have it on in an hour.  My car would not be pretty, but it could be driven.  

I was so stinking happy. Unfortunately the part was not in stock anywhere in town. We got the part ordered and went to check on my car.  It was still there, looking sad…and as I talked to the insurance company we waited for the wrecker. While waiting we sat in his truck and chatted. Caught up on recent events and had a pleasant time.

 Once the car was towed to my apt George* graciously bought me lunch and even went and picked up my chest freezer I had ordered for me.  

He really was my knight in shining armor that day.

Then my ex decided to let in on me or as he puts it “have a heart to heart” which translates to:

“You’ve done something I don’t like so I’m going to make you feel like shit.”

So yeah, I was genuinely confused.  I didn’t know what I had done.  Yeah, George and I had been intimate in the past, we weren’t anymore, we still talked, but just as friends, we hadn’t seen each other in months, over 5 of them to be exact and all of this was before my ex and I had gotten together.

George offered to help me, because he is a nice person and my friend and he knows how bad I need a car and that I can’t logically wait the extraordinary amount of time the insurance company is going to take. He saw a friend who needed help, despite our past, and he was there to help.

My ex on the other hand only saw the fact that I had slept with him, months before I had met my ex mind you, and accused me of sleeping with him again, like that weekend, and of that being the only reason George would have helped me, basically saying that I was unworthy of kindness unless I was sleeping with the person.

Like I, even though I am human being, am unworthy of a friend who wants to help, just because we’re friend without any ulterior motive or coercion.

I couldn’t understand where all of this came from.  I was so happy that I would be getting my car back in a week instead of months and here he is accusing me, yelling and cussing at me, accusing me of sleeping with someone that I haven’t seen in MONTHS.

I felt ashamed of accepting his help, of wrecking my car, of all the things that had made me so positive that day.

I shouldn't have let him make me feel that way.

I did nothing wrong.

I accepted help from a friend that was gracious enough to help me. 

There is no harm or shame in that.

I should be ashamed that I let him make me feel that way- like I deserved less, like I was less, for accepting help from George*.

It boils down to he was jealous.  He doesn't want me, but the thought of someone else wanting me burns his biscuits.

Well, I hope he likes them burnt black.

 *Totally not his real name.