Va fongul

Just now when I was driving home from therapy where the two of us had decided that I’m an ebullient person spreading effulgence in the world (my therapist is as big a word nerd as I am, not to mention someone who puts a positive spin on things), I got a huge honk from the guy behind me. I sort of came to – I was definitely drifting – and saw that he was really right on my ass. I wondered if I’d drifted in front of him and I felt bad and shocked. Then he passed me and gave me the ol’ va fongul (which I don’t actually know how to spell). I waved, a kind of “Shit, I’m sorry!” wave, and then blew him a few kisses. He gave me the finger. I was behind him at the next light and I leaned out the window and apologized. He gave me the finger. I said, “I’m really sorry – did I drift?” He gave me the finger. I said I was sorry again. He gave me the finger. I said, “Really? That’s the way it is? Well, I’m still really sorry.” He gave me the finger, but he also glanced at me quickly in the side view mirror.

So then I felt like crying. And I also took a few deep breaths. And I also tried to let it just pass. And I also started giggling because I had the silly thought that I had actually admired the decisive and sexy way he’d given me va fongul and how his finger-giving was very masterful and handsome. He was a vigorous middle aged white man with a nice tan and a big ring on his left hand. His rude gestures were very beautiful. Then I felt like crying again, because it really hurt my feelings that he wouldn’t accept my apology, plus I was shook up from having spaced out so bad while driving. I turned left and he went straight. I wondered if maybe he was feeling a little remorseful or if he felt satisfied. I wondered if he felt justified for acting that way with me because he’d been so up close and personal with all my queer/alternative/green bumper stickers and those maybe aren’t his views. I wonder if we’ll ever see each other again. Maybe we could laugh about it, especially if I showed him that I wasn’t mad at him or anything. I could say, “Man, I’d really spaced out – you must have been really afraid you were going to ram me!” and he could say, “Yeah – you cut me off really bad and I was already mad because of something else.” That would be really good. But for now I’ll just try to keep letting go of being shocked and upset, remember his sexy arm, and carry the fuck on.

Published in: on May 18, 2010 at 3:29 AM  Leave a Comment  

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