Well, that was an eventful few days. Wait, that was only one singular day? How did that happen?
Since my alternator was out, Carlos gave me a ride to San Marcos to meet up with my parents. He made a few pitstops along the way but I'm not complaining. It's been a while since I had been a passenger. I missed that feeling. Eventually I'm dropped off at the San Marcos house. Butterball is more spritely today than he was yesterday (Sunday). My mom jokes he may have doggy dementia. Is there Doggy Dementia? Dogmentia? I'd have to look that up. I stay there until it gets dark since the traffic is heavy and crazy there. While not impossible, I'd prefer less stress and, to a minor degree, less heat. To go home, I've been given the option between my mom's car and my dad's truck. My dad's truck has very stiff steering and the a/c is kind of spotty. My mom's car also has spotty a/c but the steering is slightly smoother. I opt for the car. As previously mentioned, my mom is kind of a hermit and will go to great lengths to avoid seeing people. At least, that's my justification for taking the cozier ride.
I put the key in the ignition but there seems to be some difficulty turning it. After pulling the key out, and using the other side, it seems to start. A key should function regardless of the way its facing, right? Before I start driving, I notice the red battery symbol on the dash. Surely its nothing. I head north on I-35 and go my usual route home. I have a playlist called, "Artwork," that's a compilation of my favorite songs. On spotify its called, "The Sunset Tape." Anyways, I'm exiting into creedmoor and as I take a left at the light to head into Old San Antonio road, the right speaker goes out as Weyes Blood's, "The Worst is Done," is playing. I reach another light and the RPM gauge and the speed limit gauge start going up and down like crazy, and the odometer starts flickering. Things are looking bad. I continue to drive, and the headlights grow dim. Old San Antonio road is a long stretch of road surrounded by trees, darkness, and more darkness. Breaking down there would be the worst thing that could happen. I barely make it out and reach another light. I stop for a moment. When I can turn, I notice the car has difficulty turning. I give it a little more gas and I'm able to clear the fire station. I take a right to go on South First and I'm passing Akins High School. I cannot tell how fast I'm going, but I know I cannot stop. I eventually reach a red light at South First and Slaughter. I'm stopped for what feels like forever. A truck stops behind me. The light turns green and I give it gas. I push and push against the pedal and the car crawls at an agonizing three miles an hour. The truck behind me navigates around me, saving me from an embarassing honk. I'm barely making it down South First and finally, finally I turn to Hyde Park place. It's at a downward slope so I don't hit the gas, I just let the car coast down. Its late, so I turn without fully braking at the stop sign. I apply just a little more gas to turn again. I finally reach my street and I try to pull over on the left side. The car is moving at one mile an hour. Failure. I'm mostly on the left side but the car is at an angle blocking that part of the street. Eventually, my dad drives over and we have to jump the car several times in order to heave its tired carcass on the driveway. I am exahusted. And that ends my Monday.
The following day I get up somewhat early, I drink my morning coffee, and I prepare to go to the Ethel Cain pop-up shop. Without a ride, I have to take the bus. I've grown quite fond of the bus and I will admit, I enjoyed riding it and getting to read my James Baldwin book. I have to walk a long way after getting dropped off to reach the spot. I miss being able to walk around. There's so much wonder to take in everywhere. On my ride home, there was a mentally ill black lady sitting in the front half. She was wearing what looked to be a cow onesie, maybe a top. She would look out the window, or maybe ahead, and things would be fine. She would then break out into a loud, dry sob. Then she would stop. Everyone was courteous enough not to make things worse but no one, myself included, knew how to make things better. Someone who's crying but cannot be heard. There's probably something deep in there. I hope she finds peace. Anyways, I continue reading and I reach a part of the book that particularly touched me. I had to pause for a moment and really, really, take in what I just read.
"When someone you love is happy, you have been given a great gift; you are the honored guest at a rare celebration. If you are burdened, the joy of your brother lightens your burden, if you are crawling on your belly, his joy brings you to your feet. It's true: my soul is a witness. After days, or weeks, of despair, and inertia, you are given the force to go out and contend for the rent money, and to get your watch out of the pawnshop. The happiness of someone you love proves that life is possible. Your own horrors, whatever they may be, must simply await your return from the celebration-there can be no question of your taking them with you. And there they sit, indeed, in your room, when you return, looking baleful and neglected, and you realize that some horrors need you far more than you need them, and, mercilessly, you begin to clean house."
I mean, wow, what a fucking quote. That's going on an insta post someday for sure.
When I got home I saw my dad changing the car battery. I thought I saw a small wisp of smoke rise from the battery, but that wouldn't really make sense. I mentioned it to my dad but he didn't see the smoke. The dash still showed the red battery symbol despite having a fresh battery. My dad chose to test drive it since everything else seemed normal. Maybe it would go away like these things do. While he was driving, I worked on making the perfect sandwich. Since reading these sandwich books, I have found a weird love for making perfect sandwiches. As I chop carrots for the mix, I hear Bayley's theme, "Deliverance," loudly sound off my phone. Its dad. The car started to smoke MORE from the hood. It looks like our familiar foe, the alternator was the culprit. I drive over to get him. In a last ditch effort, he drives to the Autozone on William Cannon where my childhood H-E-B used to be occupied. As I finish my beautiful sandwich, I recieve another call. Its fixed. That Autozone, and many like it, used to have a bunch of mexicans hanging around the parking lot. For a fee, in cash, they could help you with just about any automotive issue you have. They're honestly lifesavers. However, they haven't been around these days. Maybe Autozone ran them off, maybe they were arrested, maybe a situation grew between customer and mechanic, ruining it for everyone. I don't know what happened, but they're not there anymore. Luckily, my dad recognized one of the cars for those mechanics and was able to meet him and get things squared away from there. A decent ending I suppose.
With my mom's car, I made it to the Ethel Cain concert without a hitch. I cover more of the concert in, you guessed it, mis notas de concierto. Though I will point out two major things. One, all of my previous triggers when attending that venue seem to have been nullified and the ones that started to form, were disarmed accordingly. That's amazing! Secondly, during Ethel Cain's performance of, "Nettles," I think that was the hardest I cried during a concert, like, ever. The nettles setpiece, the blue lighting, and the beauty from Ethel's singing, all of that was impactful, but it was mostly the nettles. They reminded me of the lake where me and Stef would go to. They made me think about how much I missed her (today marked three months since we last met). How I missed talking to her, sharing art with her, her sharing her latest music developments with me, listening to the ducks having their duck arguments, looking out at the houses on the horizon, and just catching up in general. It cannot be understated how much she means to me. Luckily, in a sea of strangers, I was alone, and no one saw me crying. I recorded the song and I think I may obsess over it for the next few days.
No turning back now.