When the daylight has faded

The wayward CEL (#special, #skill)

I stare at the black screen in confusion.

"The light was on a minute ago, I swear!" I exclaim.

Tommy, my boyfriend, shakes his head, mutters something under his breath and walks away. I slip into the seat of my cute little pink car that I spent all my life savings on. That might not have been much, but I love my oversized second-hand candy wrapper to bits.

Not to mention that my current bank balance has nothing to balance. The only repairs I'm able to afford involve superglue. At a stretch, I'd probably be able to chuck in my nylons.

"You sure it's safe for me to drive to work?" I shout after the retreating figure of the man who professes to love me.

"Yes, darling!" He doesn't even turn around.

I should feel offended. After all, my life could be on the line here. But then again, this is not the first time I suspected a car malfunction. Just two weeks ago, I almost hit a tree when a loud alarm came on, followed by a flashing red light on my dashboard. The concurrent combination of auditive and visual warning systems had me convinced that I'd need someone with special skills to save my baby. In hindsight, I can see that deciphering a seat belt warning light does not require magic skills. But the stupid alarm scared the shit out of me and shut my brain down. Can happen, can't it?

Tommy doesn't get it and is still laughing at me now.

But the engine light had been on. I'm not bloody blind.

I take a breath and turn the key. The motor wakes up and the car rolls out of the driveway.

Nine hours later, an exhausted me jumps into her car, looking forward to a soft couch and sweet glass of white wine, car calamities forgotten.

I turn the key, ready to roll out of my parking space. The car has other ideas. Candy jumps forward, then presents me with a bright yellow engine light.

"Great, just great!" I mutter, already hearing Tommy's disbelieving laughter.

"Car trouble?" A colleague is sticking his head through my open window.

"Yes, the engine light is on. No idea what's wrong."

"Hm, I can't see any light, Sue."

My eyes swivel towards a dark dashboard.

I sigh.

"The car jumped, then the light came on. I swear!"

"Don't worry about it, Sue!" With a dismissive slap on the car roof, Mr Helpful sends me on my way.

Visions of horrific car accidents propel me straight to the nearest repair shop – broke or not.

I'm still mourning the 300 non-existent quid I just spent on an apparently fully-functioning car, when the light comes on again.

This time it is red.

I just stare at it in disbelief, first my mind, then my car doing some off-roading.

An almighty bang bursts my eardrums and the airbag deploys.

Then everything is quiet.

I find myself mere centimetres away from a huge tree trunk, telling me that my motor has just had an accordion moment. My gaze lands on the dashboard. All the lights are flashing.

I can't help it. Despite all the aches and pains in my body, I start laughing.

This time, they will have to believe me that there is something wrong with my car.