Chapter Forty One; The Night Susie showed up with her Top Down

What.

The.

Hell.

I had been crying. Now. I am just confused.

It is 10:00 at night. I had been sitting on my front step sobbing for the whole world to see for the past half hour or so. Smiley Susie, my personal savior, is sitting in my driveway in a 1962 push button convertible, top town (the car’s top. Geez, people. Pervs!), fuzzy dice swaying in the night breeze.

“Hop in!” her curly head calls to me from behind the wheel, “The cheer up cavalry is here! And . . . she is driving a 1962 push button convertible,” she pauses for emphasis, “complete. With fuzzy dice.”

I sniff, and momentarily forget the fact that a few minutes later I had summoned Susie from my cell. Because I was upset. About a boy. Of course.

Good gawd.

Miraculously, sixty seconds later I am now so distracted by the fact that I am driving around in a vintage convertible that I forget to concentrate on the guy trouble simply because I don’t know what the hell else to think. I finally collect myself enough to stutter, “Um, where did you get this car?”

“It’s my Dad’s, isn’t it great?” Susie smiles again and then starts commenting on what a beautiful night it is and how time heals all wounds and that I will be fine and isn’t it cool she even has the fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror?

I just stare at her like she is on crack.

Sometimes? I wonder.

“No, seriously, Suze. Forget my saga for just one second. I just want to know. Why. The hell. Are you in this car?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Dad lets me take it for a spin every once in a while and I thought tonight would be perfect! So when you called with your boo hoo hoo/woe is me/boys suck so bad/I might become a lesbian/night I had to come pick you up! Didn’t it work out great?”

I just nod, sit back in the seat and look up to watch the night sky scrolling above us. Susie is full of surprises. I have just come to expect it. Which runs counter to the entire concept that makes a surprise surpising, but that is the beauty of all that is Susie.

As she drives she chatters her typical perpetually irritating positive banter that I can always count on during times like this, something about, “Let go, let God” and “This is an answer to prayer, just give it some time.”

I interrupt her optimistic soap box soliloquy to insist, “Screw that approach little miss fuzzy dice. Let accelerate through the grief phase already. I just want to skip to the anger. That’s the fun part.”

Susie smiles, “Alrighty then, I think it might be too soon but we’ll give it a whirl! Here goes the anger: He’s an idiot. He can never do better, you’re a goddess and he has a brain injury to end all brain injuries. He is the king of the brain injured. In fact, he does not have a brain at all. We should alert the medical community. Quick! Someone study this man! How does he do it? He obviously has no brain, as is clearly illustrated by his breaking up with the most fabulously wonderful woman on the planet, Audra the Awesome, Audra the Amazing, Audra the Acoustic wonder!” she flashes a shit ass grin at me from behind the wheel.

“Acoustic wonder?”

“Hey, I can’t think of that many adjectives that start with “a” under pressure. Cut me some slack," she jokes, then turns her navigational focus away from my drama and back to the drive, “Hey, lets head down this street, its always a pretty one. Love these old houses.”

I am giggling. Acoustic wonder. What a doorknob.

But I attempt to go with it and try to let the insults seep in. And wait for the anger anesthesia to take effect. I watch the mansions of days past planted in their perfectly landscaped yards filter by us and sink back in the vinyl seat to ponder this brainless man’s said stupidity and inability to treasure the gem that is so obviously, moi.

That lasts all of ten seconds.

Crap.

I am soon gushing, “Oh, that’s not true, He’s NOT an idiot And he’s really smart, that’s why I like him. That’s why this sucks! Because he DOES have a brain!”

Susie just goes with the flow, and doesn’t miss a beat in this break up band. “Told you it was too soon for the anger. Give yourself a week. Or four. Or six. You’ll get there. I’ll come over when you get to that fun pissed off part. We’ll photoshop his picture,” she plots, then adds, “And drink an entire box of wine.”

Susie actually grew up leading a pretty pampered life (Hello? I mean really, what the hell? Her Dad has a vintage vehicle just lying around? Yeah. That outta clue you in.)

Yet.

She buys her wine by the box.

I love this woman.

I sniff, “You’re a good friend, Suze.”

“A good friend with a convertible in her dad’s garage,” she reminds me.

How could I forget? I just shake my head as we ride in silence for a while.

“Susie?”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t even know what Photoshop is. You’re technically disabled.”

“Oh, I know!” she confesses with a big fat grin, “But I always thought it sounded like so much fun!”

I actually do let a snicker escape thinking about the digital damage I could inflict. (And the fact that this is the worst post break up revenge therapy Susie’s goody goody head can think of.)

We cruise around for another good hour, hashing out life, what has happened to us, where we are, and where we are going. And by the end of the night, I was definitely counting more blessings than curses on this crazy ride.

And that is exactly why, if you saw two chicks cruising around town about a month ago in a vintage convertible, they weren’t lesbians making out. It was just me and Susie.

Because any friend who can show up and instantly evolve tears to confusion to laughter is getting a big fat embrace from me. Even if we are in a 1962 push button convertible.

Complete with fuzzy dice.

For the whole world to see.

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Dear Blogaramma fans,
Two months later Susie took me out for my birthday in that borrowed vintage convertible of her dad's. . . here's a little visual for ya of THAT adventure! Her dad actually put in XM radio (cleverly hidden in the glove compartment so as not to destroy the classic cruising experience) So here we are jamming out to the oldies station, fuzzy dice and all!...but you'll have to turn your monitor on its side, because of course, Susie still hasn't figured out how to hold her cell phone correctly when taking videos!
Late gaters,
Audra