A week ago, Mom called to ask if I had left the house
yet. Of course I hadn’t. It was still deep in my scientific exploration to see
how long I could stay in the house before claustrophobia set in or losing my
mind and there was no plan to break the streak without a good reason. So-called
“good reasons” would be things like needing to take a dog to the vet in the case
of an emergency or finally returning to work at the office-office.
When Mom called, she relayed to me the true life
tale of a family friend who had not started her car in several weeks, and then
when she finally needed to go somewhere, it wouldn’t start because the battery
was dead. This caused only a mild level of concern, as the AAA membership was recently
renewed. Although, as a very wise friend pointed out, when I finally decide to
leave for some good reason, the last thing I’ll want to deal with is waiting
for AAA to arrive to deliver a jump start.
During the week after Mom called I saw an article
about rats taking up residence in the engines of long-parked cars and chewing
the wires, which somehow resemble roots they love to gnaw on. The article
suggested checking under the hood before starting a car that hadn’t been run in
several weeks. Great. Another car thing to worry about. And what should be done
upon finding a family of engine rats? I don’t recall seeing that little tidbit in
the article. This is exactly the sort of crap that can keep me awake all night,
then deliver nightmares when I finally sleep.
Anyway, a couple days after Mom’s call, while still diligently logging
the days spent at the house, the car hadn’t yet been started or checked for engine
rats. My neighbor was in the shared driveway between our houses and told me she
hadn’t used her car for a while and when she finally did there was a problem
with the brakes. So now, after weeks of not driving, there was the possibility
of a dead battery, engine rats, and brake trouble? Damn. But the 52 days to a
gallon and zero dollars spent on gas was still feeling pretty good.
On Thursday, after work and supper, it finally happened.
After being home since March 16, on the evening of Day 52, I left the house. Not
for health, welfare, or entertainment purposes. Of all the possible valid reasons to
leave, on this night, it was decided to drive the car to check the brakes. That’s when panic set in about not having a proper
mask on Day two of the new mask in public mandate.
What if something happened while
I was driving and I had to get out of the car and couldn’t maintain distance
and don’t have a mask? This leaving the house business, so adeptly avoided for
so long, was becoming more stressful with each passing minute. Dead battery. Engine
rats. Brake trouble. No mask. Cripes.
There was some frantic rummaging in a drawer to dredge
up a bandanna, then the dogs were herded outside and deposited into the back
seat of the car. The engine started right away, just like always. I forgot to
check, but the fact the car started and there were no tiny rat screams seemed to
rule out engine rats. Rolling out of the driveway, the brakes groaned with an
awful and embarrassing noise.
 |
| Dogs about to go for a ride. |
The dogs and I drove the quiet streets of our
neighborhood for twelve minutes. Traffic was light. Yards were flowering, trees
had buds, and spring had arrived while I was in the house. The few people
walking on the sidewalks were wearing masks and going about their business like there was nothing unusual going on in the world.
While the car was moving it was fine and normal, but every
time the brakes were used, there was a weird thumpy sound. None of the masked
people on the sidewalks turned in horror at the sounds of my brakes, so maybe
it doesn’t sound as bad outside the car as it does inside. But I’ll be checking
in with the family mechanic about it soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment