THAT DAY

I'm visiting my ex-girlfriend Kay in San Diego. She's pregnant, planning an abortion, and I came down to nurse her through the recovery. But just before each appointment at the women's clinic, Kay picks a fight! Weeks of this, over & over--till it's too late. She lured me down here on a lie... or self-delusion.

My broken nose has healed straight--more or less--but her rage is chronic now; more damage is just a matter of time. Write "I am afraid of Kay" in my journal. Mistake to write it in English, not Chinese: Kay snoops, reads my journal, glares daggers at me. Hacks her hair short. At least she doesn't try to cut ME.

Kay attempts reconciliation. Can sex really undo betrayal? I try, but she has a yeast infection, is sore, smells and tastes awful--bitter, burning. Plus I'm too mad to really want sex with her. Just don't trust her now. She intends to have this child. And presumably abuse it the way she has me.

THAT NIGHT

My dad is driving our VW bus on the freeway. I ride shotgun; my mom's in the back seat. A car comes head-on, the wrong way! Then another. Are WE on the wrong side? Look behind us to check; no! Other cars are swerving to avoid these wrong-way cars. Here comes a third! I don't speak up but am scared and wish he'd slow down or pull over. He doesn't.

Then I spot one, two, no, THREE big double-rig trucks headed straight at us. I scream "Oh my God!" and my dad swerves and misses the trucks. I realize now that he didn't even NOTICE the earlier oncomings. He ignores what he sees as small stuff! Though it's big enough to kill.

Ahead is a knot of flashing cop cars around an accident; one is parked sideways blocking the road. Dad swerves to the right, but doesn't slow down enough. Slams into the rear of the cruiser, hard, crunching in the front of our bus. Amazingly, the windshield cracks but doesn't shatter. Can still see.

And steer! My dad wobbles on down the road. I look back. Tail of the copcar's all mangled steel. A high-speed crash! People die in cars that look like that. We were lucky.

And my dad drives on...

NOTES NEXT MORNING

• Dad in driver's seat, blind, ignores oncoming cars on the wrong side: my dad's morality makes me wilfully blind to disasters Kay sets up.
• Cars outa control, on the wrong side: Kay's self-destructive games.
• Check to see who's on the wrong side: who's sabotaging abortion, Kay or me? Kay's a master at using feminist theory to make me doubt the obvious. Kay's doing this. And I can't stop her.
• Copcar: Law, morality, GUILT
• Head-on collision, smash in front of my hippie van AND tail of copcar: Double warning!
  1. This inner cop nagging me to Do Right By Kay has to get smashed! So does my easy-going hippie persona. Act in my own self-protection, or worse will happen!
  2. The "worse" my unconscious predicts will be either a head-on car crash, or I'll get my head knocked in.

The entry to Kay's backyard cabin is through a low concrete arch. Worried, hurried, I half-leap down through the doorway and crack my head HARD on the concrete arch.

Hurt and dizzy all day. That dream wasn't playing around! To get me out of here, my own unconscious will HURT me.

LOOKING BACK YEARS LATER

I was warned. And was warned again. Yet Kay was effective at using guilt to rope me in; I spent the next year driving her around, living with her (and the eventual baby) in a van. Worst year of my life. She raged on; I felt unsafe leaving the baby alone with her. Eventually she was forced to arrange an in-family adoption.

Once the baby was safe from her, I left--emaciated, shaking, and shitting blood. It took years to heal.

Near-fatal collision. Wobble on down the road, broken.

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