Asking for Help

Boy do I hate asking for help. I'm tough. I can do it myself. Wah. So there. Well, this morning, after a very long trip yesterday, and after a fitful, jet lagged shitty sleep interrupted by sweaty panic inducing dreams of my ex getting married to his new girlfriend on the day our divorce is final, I awoke to a dead car battery. I didn't awake to it. I raced down to my car, kids in tow, with exactly 9 minutes to get Virgil to school, another 15 in between to get Wyatt to school, and then another 28 to get myself to work for an important meeting. It was all timed perfectly. Except for the dead car battery. Fuck.

What to do. I don't want Virgil to be late for Middle School. It's only the second week. He doesn't need a tardy slip on the 10th day. Arg. Call AAA? No that will take too long. Take the bus? Too long. Call Winslow. What else to do? Nothing. I have to call. Do I want him to pick up the kids and take them? No. I like taking them. Do I want him to come and give me a jump? No. No time. Ugh. Just call.

Hello.
Hi. It's me. (The "me" is me.)
I know. (His voice has this funny dip in it when I call. When he says "I know." Is it condescension? Annoyance? What? He just sounds exasperated, like, Jesus Christ I know already - It's always you. He never calls. He has no interest in ever speaking with me again.)
My car is dead.
What do you want? Do you want me to take the kids?
No.
You want to use my car? (It was ours. Sounds weird for him to say "my". It's still in my name in fact. God I hate that car. That shitty broke down Toyota Corolla from 1997 with a hole in the trunk.)
Sure I guess.
Just use your key.
I don't have it. I gave it back (along with everything I left in what is now your apartment.)
I wish I knew where it was. Ok, just come by.
I'm coming now. Thanks.

I run. With kids panting behind, dragging the heaviest backpacks under law. I ring the bell. He answers all happy and shit. Why? Why so happy now all the time? Virgil, someone wants to say hi...he says. Tiffany pokes her head out. Tiffany whose name he can't remember but he's going to her wedding in Austin. On a plane. A plane not unlike those planes he always refused to fly on to go on vacation with me. She's in a tee-shirt and tights, no shoes. Sleep clothes. She's staying there. I want to avoid her because I know he's been telling her horrible things about me. About what an infidel I am. But I won't stoop that low in shame. "Hi!" I say. "Congratulations! Winslow says you're getting married. That's so great." Hard to squeeze that out. Marriage just doesn't seem that great right now.

He looked handsome. Why is he so happy? It kills me, truly. If he'd been just a little happy with me... well...I wouldn't be having these nightmares.

Get kids to school, myself to work. Crabby but there. Get finished and pick kids back up. Drive home. Ok, time to jump the car. I call him to ask for help. Mortifying. And then I jump it myself before he arrives. Gratifying.

Oh you figured it out?

Yes, I figured it out. I can jump a car. I just can't smile and be happy. Or even pretend to. But I'm working on it.