She Jumped Me · 25 October 2014

Original photograph licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

She jumped me. And then, I fell in love.

She had parked right next to me for months and we had only said a few words to each other in that time. We either said hello when we got there at the same time or goodbye when we were leaving. But that was about all. We worked in next door businesses. When we saw each other in the parking lot, we would nod, wave, smile at each other, or even speak those few words. Then one day after work, my car greeted me with a dead battery.

My old car did not turn off the headlights after a few minutes or give me an audible clue to tell me that I had left them on. I popped the hood and got out of the car. I opened the hood all the way and looked at the engine even though I knew what the problem was. I looked up and searched the nearly empty parking lot. Nobody was in sight. I pulled out my phone to call my brother to see if he could give me a jump start. I must have leaped a foot when she called out from behind me, “Need a jump?”

The leap made it obvious that she had startled me. “Sorry to scare you. I just saw your hood opened and thought you might need a jump start.”

“You have jumper cables?”

She was indignant. “Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean that I don’t know a thing or two about cars.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She gave me a look. “Okay. That is what I meant. But…”

“It’s okay. Even a knight in shining armor needs a good jump now and then.”

I must have blanched.

She bailed me out. “The car. Everybody kills their battery now and again and needs their car jump started.”

I smiled and blushed. “I guess so.” I was completely smitten.

She hopped into her car, started it up, popped the hood and trunk, and had the jumper cables hooked up in no time flat. “Hop in and start her up,” she ordered. I did.

The car turned over on the first try. By the time I had gotten out to thank her, she had already disconnected the cables. “Thank you very much.” I was going to take the initiative and introduce myself, but she was too quick.

She closed her hood and was already heading toward the trunk. She did not even look back as she answered, “You’re welcome. Just remember to turn off your lights.” She threw the cables into her trunk, got into her car and backed out of the parking space.

She waved and sped away as I shouted, “I don’t even know your name.”

I was dejected as I drove home.

The next morning, I was happy to see her car with an open parking spot next to it. As always, I took it. When I got out of the car, I left my lights on again.

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© 2014 Michael T. Miyoshi

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