Decisions, Decisions…

Last week, one of my mom’s cats needed to go to the vet. My mother’s Sri Lankan housemaid (a woman I hate from the core of my being because of the shit she’s caused me and my son in the past, though am forcing myself to be kind to because we have to live in the same house – my mother thinks she’s her sister and not the maid), asked me if she could take my car because my mother’s car, that the maid drives as if it were her own while my mom’s on vacation, is having some sort of mechanical problems that cause it to stall.

I told her the keys were inside and let her go. I didn’t think much of it, despite my utter hate for the woman. I don’t really hold a grudge; even if she is the reason my mother kicked me & my son out last year just after I won the divorce; even if she does get paid to do nothing; even if my mother favors the woman more than her own damn family. (Notice the lies I tell myself, when I say I’m not holding a grudge?)

Anyway, she came back a short while later with the cat and all was normal. Now, I didn’t attempt to leave my house until last night, when I went to get them journal entries bound. The first thing I noticed was the dashboard on my car was cracked and the cabinet thingy wasn’t sitting properly in it. It’s not too obvious so I assumed maybe the sun had caused it to crack or something; until I tried to reverse the car.

I didn’t want to move initially and only jerked into movement when I pressed my foot pretty hard on the gas. I kept driving out of the yard anyway, thinking maybe it was just the wet sand under the tires (as my car had recently been washed and there isn’t a driveway here). I drove for about 30 seconds before realizing something was seriously wrong with the damn car. Whenever I braked, it would shutter and I could feel something banging against the tire. I came back to the house and asked one of the workers who lives here to contact the government garage (as my car is registered by the Sheikh), to see if they can’t take it and repair whatever the problem is quickly, without renewing the expired registration. To renew it means I have to pay speeding fines that I can’t afford right now.

I came into the house and asked the bitch if she’d hit something and failed to tell me about it. Naturally, she denied it. I’m sure the woman is now scared shitless of pissing me off after the last scene, but little does she know I wouldn’t have cared in the least if she’d banged up the car. Anyway, I kept quiet, even though I was sure then that she had hit or run over something; I had no proof.

Today, I had a friend of mine take it to another garage. There is no way the government workshop will return it in a day’s time and I miss my son so it’s worth whatever it’ll cost. He called me to ask me what I hit, saying that something was banged into the left side. The bitch ran something over. She then thought I wouldn’t notice. And on top of all that, she lied when I asked her.

Now, I care because she fucking lied about it and I was supposed to pick up my son today and it’s too late now. Had I known before (when she actually banged it up), I’d have had it fixed in time to get him. It’s scary enough for me to have my son in the car on these roads, let alone in a car that’s fucked. There’s no way I’m driving him all the way along Emirates road in a car that almost feels as though the tire is going to fall off at any given moment.

The only thing that’s left for me to consider, is whether or not I freak out on the bitch. She’ll deny it. My mother will believe her. And I’ll end up out on the streets again, I’m sure. But I’m pissed right the fuck off and almost feel like waking her up at this moment and slapping the shit out of her. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a fucking liar. And there’s NO way my car managed to run itself over something between her taking it and last night, all by itself; unless I’m truly insane and sometimes do I wonder.

But no. I won’t do it. I want to. But I won’t. Either way, I’ll get nothing out of it. And I won’t have my baby with me anytime sooner, will I? Bitch.