Death of an Alternator

Today's story comes to you from the repository of work I did for my creative writing class, so it's in "memoir style." Which is kind of like Gangnam style, but not quite as cool.

If I had thought it through, I wouldn’t have driven my car when I was 98% sure that the alternator was dead. With the “check battery” light on and the headlights getting dim, I knew it was only a matter of time before my car died. But I was tired of walking to school in the freezing cold and getting home after midnight. I had papers to write and finals to take and I was not going to let a silly alternator keep me from driving my car.

The fateful decision was made when I decided I had to go to the store. Walmart was my first choice, but when I passed Rite-Aid and my car was starting to shutter, I turned in the parking lot. They would have what I needed, and I might even be able to make it home from here without my car dying. When I finished with my purchases, I got back in my car. Relieved when it started, I prayed, “Heavenly Father, just don’t let my car die in the middle of a busy road.” It was a desperate plea. My headlights, dimming quickly, were barely bright enough to light the road right in front of me. As I pulled out of the parking lot, the radio died. My car shuddered as I sped up, and I prayed again. I was all alone and it was almost midnight. I really didn’t want to have to call a tow truck to take my car to a shop. And I really didn’t want to get hit by someone that couldn’t see my car.

When I pulled onto Freedom, I knew I was in trouble. My car had started shuddering, like a drowned man trying to come back to life. I changed into a lower gear and crossed University Avenue. If my car could just keep going for six more blocks…

It couldn’t. With one final shudder and a terrible lurch, my car died in the middle of an intersection on a dimly lit street. Gathering my wits about me, I pushed my car to the side of the road andcalled my roommate. 

“Hi Teresa,” I said.

“Did your car die?” she asked. She must have heard me gloating about the fact that my car had started this morning,

“Yes. I can’t push it home alone because my lights are dead. I’m afraid someone won’t see me and will hit me. Can you come and drive behind my car with your flashers on while I push it the last few blocks?” I was too tired to call a tow truck when I just lived three blocks away from where my car had died.

Teresa showed up in less than five minutes with my other roommate, Brittany. She stared at my car. “Does this happen often?” she asked.

“No. Well, sometimes,” I said, thinking of the several times I had run out of gas…and the leaking radiator that I had finally fixed a few months ago…and the winter I had to use ice-x on the inside of my car windshield because the defroster didn’t work. “I just need to push it home. Can you push from that side and I will steer and push from this side?”

The scene would have been comical if it wasn’t so tragic. Two girls pushing a car in the street while another one drove slowly behind with her flashers on. When the two men pulled over and offered to help, I only refused once. At their insistence, I got in and steered while they pushed. As they pushed my car into the parking lot, I sighed. My pride had finally taken a hit: this time, I couldn’t take care of my car problems by myself. But at I could say that I had pushed it out of the middle of the intersection by myself…

Here I am, so proud to be buying my first car. Pre-alternator failure.