“It’s quarter to three, there’s no one in the place, ‘cept you and me…”

Earlier this week, I met Ethan. I had been invited to join this interesting version of Friendster, made especially for Mormons. It was late one night – around three AM, in fact – I had nothing else to do, and I thought I’d try it out. ‘Why not,’ I thought, ‘maybe I’ll get to meet some more people in the area, some people I can actually click with.’ The very next morning I received an email from Ethan. Unfortunately, he didn’t live in the area, but our conversations were interesting and entertaining nonetheless.

“So set ’em up, Joe, I gotta little story you oughta know…”

On Friday, around 5:30pm, Ethan hopped online unexpectedly. He told me that a friend of his was driving from where he lived to DC that evening in order to attend a concert in Washington, DC. Ethan was eager to tell me that at the very last minute, he’d decided to come along, that he’d be in DC the very next day. He wanted to know if I had time to meet him, come to the concert, and support the band.

The concert was for – and I know this sounds both odd and funny – a Mormon boy band. You should all have gathered by now that boy bands, let alone Mormon ones, aren’t really my style. But I was intrigued by Ethan’s spontaneity, and once again that ‘Why not?’ impulse coursed through my mind. I told Ethan I’d be happy to play. I gave him my cell number and he promised to call in the morning.

“I got the routine, put another nickel, in the machine…”

I set my alarm for 9:30 the next morning. That didn’t happen though. Sure, the alarm went off, but having stayed awake until 4:30am I wasn’t about to get up after only a few hours of sleep. When the alarm went off, I promptly rolled over and hit the snooze button. I checked my cell phone to make sure I hadn’t missed any calls, then rolled back over and fell back asleep. Eight minutes later, I repeated this process. In fact, I repeated this process several times over the next half an hour, until I finally decided that this was quite stupid. My cell phone was surely loud enough to wake me up. Off went the alarm, and off I went to sleep.

I proceeded to have the clearest, most pertinent dream I think I’ve ever had. I dreamt that my cell phone rang, I answered it, found myself talking to Ethan. I went through the semi-planned routine of the day: I’d meet him near where he was staying, there was a house involved that was famous for having a trampoline inside, we went to lunch. We talked, we laughed, we had an interesting time. All together, it wasn’t too bad, although I’m happy to say that real-life-Ethan was much more interesting than dream-Ethan. And oddly enough, dream-Ethan looked a lot like a friend of mine from Italy, but I digress.

When the cell phone finally did ring, it woke me up. With a profound feeling of deja vu, I made plans with Ethan, then got up, got dressed, and was out the door in about 15 minutes.

“I could tell you alot, but you’ve gotta’ be, true to your code…”

I had a great time hanging out with Ethan. We went to Sweetwater – which, I now realize, is becoming a very yummy tradition when friends visit from out of town – I took Ethan to Great Falls National Park, and by the time we finished those two activities, it was time for the concert. We arrived at the Northern Virginia Community College Alexandria Campus about fifteen minutes to 6:00pm. The concert wasn’t scheduled to start until 7:00pm, but we had VIP tickets, which granted us entrance to the pre-party meet and greet.

While standing in the lobby, waiting to be let in, I bumped into a family I know from church. We talked, Ethan played with the kids, and the time went by pretty quickly. Soon we were back stage, talking to the members of Jericho Road, the quintessential Mormon boy band. The first time I had heard of them was the night before – I’ve never been big into the Mormon culture scene, nor have I ever been a fan of boy bands, so this was an all-together new experience for me. The band members were very nice, answered a lot of questions, and tolerated the salivating teeny-boppers with a great deal of patience and care.

“You’d never know it, but buddy, I’m a kind of poet, and I’ve got a lotta things I’d like to say…”

There are a lot of things I could say about the show, but to sum it up, I was entertained. The opening act was very impressive – one lone Mormon with a guitar, and he owned that stage. He was good enough that I ended up buying his CD after the concert.

Jericho Road themselves, they were definitely a boy band. Ethan and I talked to several teenage girls before the show, during intermission, and afterward. We heard many shouts of, “I love you, Brett/Dave/Justin/Abe!” It was kind of surreal. I felt very old, not very girly, and very much like an outsider, but all in a very funny, entertaining sort of way. There were times, even, where I didn’t feel like very much of a Mormon, having never been interested in Mormon “culture” stuff. There were times when I had to remind myself not to feel guilty, that buying albums at LDS bookstores wasn’t a commandment and I wasn’t breaking any rules by not typically participating in this sort of thing. As well as being an interesting and entertaining event, it gave me a lot of insight into how I view my religion and my church.

But I’m digressing again. The boys in the band were quite impressive in that they had the whole boy band choreography down pat, their harmonies were very nice indeed, and I can sort of understand how a 13-year-old girl would think Brett, Dave, Justin, and/or Abe were heart-throbs. I had a good time, I even got up and danced during the last two songs. It was fun – I hadn’t been to a concert in over a year, and it was certainly a very different experience from the musical stylings of Sigur Ros. 🙂

After the concert I had the opportunity to meet the band again while they were outside signing autographs. Ethan and I hung back from the crowd a bit until the fan girlies were done getting their various bits of paraphernalia signed. During that time, I had the chance to speak with the fellow who was the opening act – Chris Davies. He autographed my CD and I offered to email the pictures I had taken of him during the concert. We exchanged email addresses, then I made my way to the table where Jericho Road was sitting. All four of the boys signed my VIP ticket, and as it was being passed along the table, they asked what I thought of the concert. I laughed and said, “Honestly, it was my first boy band experience ever.” Justin leaned across the table and, with an understanding look on his face, asked, “And was it your last?” I smiled, trying desperately to think of a tactful way to answer that question. I replied, “Well, I haven’t figured that out yet, but you guys were definitely a lot better than the Backstreet Boys.”

I ended up talking to Dave Kimball for a while, one of the singers in the band. He seemed nice enough. He asked me a lot of questions about what I did for a living, how The Daily Prophet worked, etc. But it was then that we realized it was 10:30pm, the band was being corralled into a van for the hour-long drive back to their hotel, and it was time for Ethan and I to leave.

“And when I’m gloomy, won’t you listen to me, till’ its talked away?”

I pulled my BMW out of the parking garage. I turned to the right. Went down a hill. Stopped behind a Jeep Grand Cherokee, which was waiting for the left-turn signal to turn green. I pulled out my cell phone. Ethan wanted to call a friend. The next thing I heard was, “He’s going to hit you!”

I looked up just in time to see the white lights on the back of the Jeep as it plowed into the front of my car. My Bimmer. My baby.

My whole body tensed up. My leg straightened and froze against the brake pedal. I heard the crumple of the metal in front of me. I saw the hood buckle. I swore. Shit. Out loud. In front of another Mormon.

“Well, thats how it goes…”

I didn’t get out of the car at first. I just sat there and stared as the Jeep pulled forward again, and a little Mormon head popped itself outside of the driver’s side window. It even had a Utah license plate. I was in driving hell and I was surrounded by Mormons. I didn’t even think to get out. I just stared at the man’s face, then looked down again at my hood.

Ethan was the first one to get out. He looked at the front of the car and made a face. Finally I realized that my foot was still plastered against the brake pedal. I put the car into park and got out, not even thinking to turn it off.

I stared at the front of my car and made a face too, although it was different from what Ethan pulled. I don’t really remember what happened next, or in what order. There had been an accident at the same intersection only a few minutes before, so there were police officers nearby. One of them pulled up beside us in the opposite lane to ask why we hadn’t moved yet. Obviously she hadn’t seen the accident. I walked up to her window and explained what happened, that I wanted a police report, that I needed to know what to do. I’d never been in an accident before.

The police officer brushed me off. “It’s not that bad,” she said, waving her hand at me. “Just exchange information. I don’t have time for you.” Then she left. I went back to the car and pulled out my phone. I called my Mother to tell her the car had been hit. She told me to get a police report, but I didn’t think to tell her that the police had just left.

I got back out of the car. That’s when the other driver started talking to me. He tried to convince me just to exchange information, that we didn’t need to get the police involved, that it was his fault, he’d pay for it, he’d take care of it, et cetera. I was in no mood to be persuaded. I told him no, I wanted a police report. He wouldn’t stop. “We don’t need to,” he’d say. “It’s not that bad, my insurance will take care of it.” Finally, I looked him in the eye and said, as calmly as I could muster, “Look, this month has sucked, I didn’t need this! I’ve been stalked, he got off on a technicality, I had to leave the country, and now you’ve killed my car! We’re getting a report done now!”

He had the bollocks to whine at me. “Great. That means I’m going to get a ticket.”

I wanted to scream at him, “Oh you poor baby!” He deserved that ticket. He didn’t even look behind him. He backed up fast enough to crumple the front of a BMW. Even my grille was loose. And it was his own damn fault. I didn’t give a crap about him, his ticket, what it would do to his insurance rates; he deserved it. He deserved whatever he got. I wouldn’t risk not having my car fixed because some Utah’n idiot wasn’t man enough to own up to his mistake in front of the law.

It was just then that another officer pulled up to ask us why we hadn’t moved. He didn’t notice the damage right away either. The Utah’n didn’t say anything about the accident, so the police officer started to drive away. Thankfully I managed to stop him. I told the policeman about the accident, that the first officer had denied me a police report, and that I needed one in order to make sure my insurance wouldn’t get shafted. Thankfully he noticed the damage, stopped his car, and got out to take down our information.

The Utah’n got off on a technicality. The story of my life with the law – the toe, the stalker, now this dipwad. (I swear, the next person who makes me a victim is not getting off. They’re going down, and they’re going down hard.) Turns out we were still on the property of the community college. But the police officer documented the accident, had us sign some forms, officially exchange insurance information, and even gave us a case number. But the Utah’n didn’t get a fine, didn’t get a ticket, not even a slap on the wrist.

“Feelin’ so bad, can’t ya’ make the music, easy and sad…”

I was upset. But I was in Alexandria. I didn’t want to stop the car in order to calm down, the neighborhood was too frightening. I felt like I was going to throw up. I couldn’t think straight. And I think it was obvious. Ethan kept trying to reassure me, telling me it would all be okay. It helped quite a lot, but I was still delirious enough to get hideously lost. A trip that should have taken us ten minutes ended up taking an hour. It wasn’t until we were two towns away that I realized just how lost we were.

Ethan was a good sport about it. He kept telling me, “The world is round, we’ll make it eventually.” And we did. Just before midnight we made it back to where Ethan was staying. I didn’t want to get back into that car. That poor car. I had one of the worst headaches I”ve had this month, my right leg was killing me, my back had tensed up so badly I could barely move my neck. And I was really hungry.

We went to an all-night diner. I got some waffles, he got a gyro, and I tried to be as pleasant as I could without breaking down into tears. It was just too much. Sure it was just an accident, but it was just everything. Everything that’s happened in the past few months. I wanted to scream, I wanted all of it to just never have happened. I wanted to hit rewind and then wait a little while before hitting play again. My car, I love my car, it was so strange to see it all bent up like that. And that sound, the sound of that Jeep crashing into my hood. I hate that sound.

“We’re drinkin’ my friends, to the end, of a brief episode…”

I called my parents several times throughout the meal. We were trying to figure out what to do next. The way the car was hit, we were worried the radiator had been hit. I was still so nervous, I was anxious about driving home. Finally, at one in the morning, my Father decided to make the hour long drive out to where I was so he could check on the car, check on me, and then decide what to do.

We went back to where Ethan was staying. There were far too many people there, including the Utah’n who had hit my car. Turns out he was staying at the same place. That was awkward. I wanted to swear at him again. I’d missed my chance earlier, and I hate missed opportunities. But I didn’t. I behaved myself. I silently sat on the floor until my father showed up.

Ethan came outside with me. We tried to open the hood, but it was jammed. Dad pulled out the grille that was loose. And he decided it was driveable. I said good-bye to Ethan, thanked him for the fun parts of the day, and then got into my car. All the way home I fought crying – blurry vision wouldn’t help my already compromised state of awareness. I was angry, I was still startled, I was stressed, I wanted to be home. But I had an hour of driving ahead of me, so I listened to Tony Bennett as he crooned me all the way home.

“So make it one for my baby, and one more for the road…”

I made it home around 2:30 in the morning. I was tired, I was in a lot of pain, I couldn’t shake my headache, my right ankle had swollen – I think it’s been sprained – but at least I hadn’t started crying yet. I took a percocet and I went to sleep.

I slept until 2:00 in the afternoon. I’ve taken pictures of the car, but no matter what I do, the pictures don’t really capture the damage to the BMW. The paint is just too reflective, the camera can’t pick up the warp in the metal. I turned the car on while it sat in the driveway, planning on taking it for a spin around the neighborhood to see if it was still driveable. As I stood by the front of the car, listening closely to the engine to make sure it was alright, I was suddenly struck by the sharp and penetrating scent of gasoline. I raced to turn the engine off, and it was a long time before that smell dissipated. It’ll be towed tomorrow. We’re getting a rental car, but we still aren’t sure if I’ll be allowed to drive it, since I’m under 25. Normally I wouldn’t mind so much, but I have another training meeting for the World War II Memorial dedication this week all the way in DC. I need to have a car for that. What am I supposed to do? And with a sprained ankle, there’s no way I can take the metro.

I went back out to the car this evening to collect a few of my things before it goes into the auto body shop. As I put the key in to lock the doors, a large orange spark burned my hand. It bit me.

“The long, it’s so long. The long, very long…”

I want this month to get better before it turns into May. I’m wishing I hadn’t left EEurope so soon. I’ve got two gimp legs now, how am I supposed to do aanything? And I want my car back.