Chris Ramey
You can’t choose your family. They are with you for life, whether you like it or not.
Malcolm (Fox “Malcolm in the Middle”)
To people who enjoy pain, they are considered to be “masochists.” But of course finding joy in self-inflicted physical pain is not only weird, but it is considered to be nearing the verge of losing touch with reality. Then again, masochists can also be associated with sexual bondage, which can be erotic if with the right person. I am getting sidetracked, allow me to refocus the topic.
After spending two months in solitude in the city of Escondido, today was the day that I finally had my car returned to me. When I finally inserted the key in the ignition and brought it to life, I felt a sense of accomplishment, knowing that I had successfully saved the money that I needed to achieving a goal. For me, that is an accomplishment worth celebrating, because I am normally not very frugal with my money. But I knew that the longer I was going to take in saving my money, the longer it was going to be before I was going to move up to Long Beach and begin to start my new life. However, like all rewards and pleasures in life, there is always a price tag that is attached. How badly do you want this reward? It said to me as I pushed forward in obtaining something that belonged to me.
I woke up this morning with the idea that, by the end of the day, my car was going to be back in my possession. Just the fact of knowing that my freedom was hours away was so near I could almost smell the interior of my Honda Civic welcoming back into the driver’s seat.
I had the entire day planned: it was going to be a Mommy&Me day. We were going to begin our time together by visiting the library’s book store. I was going to be in search of yet another series of hardcover novels written by my new favorite author: Stephen King while my mother was going to be in search for the next classic first-edition to add to her dust-infested collection. When we did go to the library, I found two hardcovers and purchased them for 1.50. My mother received a call and was kicked out of the library for being on her phone in a place that was designated for being a place of concentration and almost-absolute silence. Once I made my purchases and thanked the cashier, I made my way towards the exit to reunite with my ever-rebellious mother so we could go to our next destination: to our car insurance office.
The main objective of our stop at the insurance office was so I could renew my membership as well as ask for a temporary renewal on my registration. On the way there, my mom informed me that my dad had called her while I was busy buying my books to notify me that since I had recently turned twenty-four, I was no longer able to stay under parents’ insurance plan and that I must get my own insurance. I groaned under my breath, knowing that this news was just more dollar bills that would leave my pocket upon payday. So I requested that we get a quote while we were there.
The insurance agent reached out and shook my hand as I followed him into his cubicle, my mother trailing behind me. We went through the routine amount of questions that was required of me to get a successful quote. My mom was playing with the cap of her pen, indicating that she was somehow nervous. I just ruled it out that she was insistent on annoying the hell out of me—which was successful. When he finally gives me a quote, I was going to take into consideration; but my mother, instead of wanting to leave, pulls out the checkbook to pay for it. I flashed her a quizzical look as I had now understood why she was nervous before the agent revealed the quote, my mother knew that she was going to pay for this. Then this is when I started to realize that before I was to get my car, I was to know the real payment that needed to be paid in order to receive my freedom.
He then gives me the bad news, my car was not registered for this year. I had already known that. Before my car broke down two months ago, I took my car into get smogged because I wanted to register my car. When my car failed smog, the mechanic told me that he could fix it, but I had already known what the problem was in order to pass the test: it needed a new engine. The very next day, my car breaks down while on my way to work. When I had explained my situation to him, he left to go to the DMV department on the opposite side of the agency.
Ten minutes later, he returns with a DMV agent, she begins to inform me of what I needed to do. I had already registered my car, but I needed to get smogged and registered. Since my car was late in getting registered, I was starting to rank up penalty charges. My mother then turns to me, in front of both the insurance and DMV agent, and says: “Why didn’t you get this car smogged before like a responsible person?”
Being twenty-four years old, I have grown to tolerate some rather unpleasant things in life, but being yelled at in front of complete strangers as well as being talked to in a condescending tone is something that I WILL NOT tolerate. Once my mother said thtat to me, the good side of the Gemini fled in terror and the Dark Side had checked herself in.
I looked at my mother in absolute disbelief that she had made that declaration in front of two people I don’t even know. I began to defend myself, but held myself back, because I knew I was not going to stoop down to her level. From that point, everything the two agents had told me had been a complete blur, because I was so angry at my mother. I was concentrating on holding in my Rage.
I know why I had neglected to get smogged: my car has given me nothing but hell since I had first purchased it in September. Once I had received the news that I was going to have to get my car smogged, my car began to break down. From November all the way until today, I have been from one mechanic to another. I could list all the drama that car has given me, but I will remain on topic.
The insurance agent concludes our time by telling me that he cannot give me the insurance unless I pay my debts to the DMV. My mom glares at me as she reaches for her pen and bites at me. “You owe us so much Pablo.” The only thought that is going on in my head was how much my mom is trying to make herself, as well as my dad, into being the victims when I have become the prey of their ridicule.
The agent directs us over to the DMV. As we are en route, My mom begins to write another check for the DMV while continuing on her roaring rampage of bitterness. At this point, I was starting to become fed up with my mom at this point. I tried to remain calm and requested that we table this conversation when we are in a more private environment and when I calm down. But she continues to go on, barrading me with reminding me of how irresponsible I am to neglect these responsibilities and instead buying stuff that won’t last. I interrupted her rambling by noticing a woman coming to help us out. “Oh, look, someone that is going to help us. Let’s act normal shall we?”
After my mother hands the check to the lady that had the patience to deal with my fake-smile as my mother’s rude manners, she hands me back the receipt to give to the agent so I can receive my insurance. Once having done both tasks, my mother and I made our way to our final destination: to retrieve my car.
As we were making our way to the car, my mother continued to bitch and remind me how stupid I am. How I am irresponsible and that I am due for a rude awakening when I am finally out on my own. Then she began to attack on a harsher level. And my Dark Rage could remain hidden anymore. It had to come out to play. When it did, all Hell broke loose.
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