Repo Man

I was wearing a brown skirt and brown tights. Varying shades of teal, pink, and cream, barely perceptible, diamonds gave slightly more visual interest than a paper bag covering my legs. My friend Molly had given it to me, in a bag of other not-quite-right-sized hand-me-downs. I wore a matching brown sweater and brown boots with cream-colored faux fur that pulled out one of the hues of subtle diamonds. My sweater was buttoned just so, and everything matched to give the illusion of one who had their life together. I should’ve been wearing my coat, but I didn’t have time to grab it. My co-worker saw the happenings from the window and called us to look at the spectacle outside. When I made it over from the front desk, my jaw dropped open. One of my biggest fears was coming true right before my eyes. I bolted outside, tears threatening to spill out with every shame-filled step.

“What’s happening!? Please stop! Please, please, I can explain!” I begged the tow truck driver. I’m not sure if I was invisible or if I wasn’t pleading loud

enough. He neither reacted nor acknowledged I was there. Just kept right on loading my car onto his truck.

“What about my stuff!?” I screamed as I conducted a quick mental inventory, remembering the few but cherished possessions in my car. A pair of ice skates, my favorite pair of black Dansko shoes that had cost a fortune, papers I’m sure were of some sort of importance to me, either in sentiment or practical, boxes from moving back to NH that wouldn’t fit inside my 600 sq. ft. of rented living space. He handed me a business card with the name of the prison he was bringingmy precious Toyota Corolla to. He finished the job, and I watched as the first real thing I almost owned was taken away.

I turned around to see all five of my co-workers at the small chiropractor’s office blinking back at me. They were all wondering what on earth had just happened. I couldn’t move, or think, or feel my body. My boss’s wife, Sherri, walked over to me and ushered me back into the warm building, where she left me alone to compose myself. Sobbing at your workplace is an eternal experience. When I emerged, she and Dr. Reinfurt called me into their office and shut the door behind us. I soaked tissue after tissue and convulsed as more tears surged and burning hot blood coursed through my veins. I told them my whole story. The ignored phone calls. The lack of a way out.

I’d been trying to make it work for so long. Shit just kept hitting the fan. One step forward and life would knock me back six. A glimmer of hope and the cycle would repeat itself. It felt like hours before the story, and tears finally stopped spurting out.

I can’t remember the name of the blond woman who worked alongside me every day at that front desk, but I’ll never forget the kindness she extended to me that day. I’ll never forget her light rap at the door as we were wrapping up our conversation to ask if she could help. I’ll never forget her motherly hug and the offer to drive an hour and a half out of her way to bring me home from work that night.