Prologue

Wednesday, June 10, 2020

As I approached the middle of the intersection, I barely caught the blue flash to my left, vaguely identifiable, like a truck. It’s the last coherent image I could concretely remember. The impact on the driver’s side was explosive and wild. I was violently thrown helplessly across the compartment. My ribs, shoulder, and leg were rendered useless by the collision as pain radiates down my left side. My head smashed into the steering wheel, and I passed out.

Blackness. Nothingness. Silence. I awoke briefly, but no one was there; I felt like I was nowhere, surrounded by a thick blanket of fog. I don’t feel pain or anything else, for that matter. I felt disconnected. With perfect clarity, I replayed the entire accident in my mind. I could see the dark blue 2019 F-250 4x4 speeding through the intersection, blazing through the red light. Colliding with my cherry red, mint condition, 1956 Ford T-Bird, obliterating the tiny car. I watched as the vehicle wrapped around and fused with the metal light pole across the intersection. I watched in terror as a passerby stopped and tried to open the door to get my unresponsive body from the car. I’m enthralled by the emergency responders buzzing around, trying to extricate me by cutting my precious car into smaller chunks. They finally put my body on a gurney where they furiously perform various emergency procedures, stopping the bleeding and immobilizing my extremities. They worked tirelessly to bring my body to life. Then I observed them putting me into the back of an ambulance, and it sped away.

Thinking back, I should’ve towed the T-Bird. It was too expensive to drive. I knew that, but I couldn’t resist. It was on my bucket list of favorite cars for ages; there were many others on the list as well. If I had been driving my truck towing the T-Bird, I would be alive, but alas, I did not, and now I was not, alive that is. If I was being honest, it was a crappy end to a crappy day and a crappy life.

I became more alert now; silence still abounded, and no one else was here. I could tell I wasn’t on a physical plane, as I didn’t have a body. It was ok, I suppose; after all the last few minutes before I got here, there was a lot of pain, loads of it, to be exact. But now I couldn’t feel anything, including pain. There were no odors, no sensations of any kind.

Soon, I thought back to the time of my existence. Doing so started a bvieeing experience like an 8K movie with a matching Dolby Digital stereo soundtrack. At first, it was a neat and fun exercise watching me. I grew from an infant through the toddler years and early childhood with quickness, just the highlights, the fun, and happy memories of being a child. There were, of course, the obligatory misadventures, bumps, and bruises. The occasional trip to the ER for the broken arm from falling out of a tree-the time I missed being hit by a car by mere inches. You know, typical everyday kid stuff. Junior high was the next series of events. Here is when things started to change.

I’d quit caring about excelling in the classroom. I’d started turning in mediocre classwork, and studying only for the test, not for the pleasure of learning. I let my friends slip away by not being active in their day-to-day activities. At lunch, I would sit alone, at first, by choice. But this soon became a self-imposed exile, which continued into high school. I was on the football and baseball teams throughout junior high. I had natural talent and was gifted with an athlete’s body. I didn’t have to work at it to be good. So, I didn’t. I was the star of the school. I was cocky and self-centered, and soon, I had no real friends left. I became miserable and hated their guts. I didn’t deserve to be treated like that. I discovered beer and girls, not necessarily in that order. I didn’t have a steady girlfriend. I just wanted to have fun. The coach told me I couldn’t play if I kept acting up as I did during practice. He also said I needed to lay off the alcohol. I only drank on the weekends. But he said he’d cut me if I was caught being hungover again. So, I quit drinking until the summer.

High school rapidly approached. During the last week of eighth grade, along with many others on the team, I was invited to try out for freshman football. I knew I was a lock for starting Quarterback on the varsity team. I knew about having to start on the JV squad, but I wouldn’t stay there. I was just too talented. I just knew Coach Wilson was going to move me to the Starting team. He didn’t promise me, but he said I had potential.

Why should I give my best effort to those losers? The coach hasn’t let me play in the last three games. We only have two games left for the season. He hasn’t even let me practice with the varsity squad; forget playing with them. I didn’t need this crap. I’ll show him; I won’t even come out next season. See if they win any games without me. I spent an awful lot of time in detention. I still think I was a nerd, but nobody accused me of it.

My grades were in the toilet. Well, no, they were worse than that. I turned in just enough overdue assignments, and with a couple of good test scores, I managed to keep from flunking out. I was barely scraping by with a 1.975 GPA. I had very generous teachers who rounded it off to a 2.0. Somehow, I blamed them for my poor performance. I couldn’t really watch too much more of this junk. I knew I screwed up, and this was only the beginning. I hoped they don’t keep playing all my past mistakes. The rest of high school was a blur. There were a few highlights: the one time I won the Knowledge Bowl and made it to regional and state finalists. On the debate team, I was always competitive I could always win an argument. I wanted to be a lawyer, among other ideas. Of course, I had one class in which I excelled: auto shop. I instinctively knew all about cars. They spoke to me in a language all their own.

Oh, boy, here we go, the lost years ... I mean early adulthood. I’d rather forget ... No, I have forgotten them. Years spent aimlessly moving from one job to the next with no goal, purpose, or clue. Jobs I quit because I knew more than the boss. I was terminated from positions for lack of performance or some other just cause. Jobs I begged for, only to piss them away and lose them because I didn’t take them seriously or put any effort into it.

Of course, it’s not just jobs I lost; relationships also went down in flames. Women I dated had a noticeably short shelf life. If we got to three weeks, I ended it over some pretext or another.

The longest time I was part of a couple was four months, and for two of those months, she was in the hospital with a severe illness. I wasn’t trying to be a douchebag. I just wanted to have fun. My mother and father were always telling me I was wasting my life and that I was going to end up alone if I kept treating women like I was. I figured I had time to settle down later. Later became much later, then never. In the last ten years of my life, I had a total of seven dates. Three of those dates lead to a relationship. But they quickly fizzled out, and I was told in no uncertain terms not to contact them ever.

Now I don’t want you to think I was a prick or an ass my entire life, or that I never accomplished anything because that would be untrue. I simply took too long to mature and realize other people counted for something more than a means to an end. I had to relearn this lesson as I had forgotten what my parents and society taught me in my youth. Finally, the movie got to the present.

I restored cars, mostly American muscle, and classics. I made them better than new; I upgraded them to modern-day beasts. I added ABS, crate engines with DOHC (dual overhead cam) twin fuel injection, turbo, or superchargers. I updated the exhaust systems, added airbags, and improved safety equipment, such as tempered glass, advanced electronics, upgraded the stereo, with Bluetooth capability as standard equipment. I made them this way because my clients, while extraordinarily wealthy, were mostly not interested in “the classic car experience.” They didn’t like the harsh ride, or the lackluster performance and poor braking when compared to modern sports cars. Not me, I preferred them as they were. I enjoyed the quirkiness of the classic American car. Restoring old cars started as a hobby and grew into a business.

My clientele may have million-dollar pedigrees, but I was not getting rich from my company. Don’t mistake that for me being in the poor house, I did ok. I was just too self-conscious and didn’t take advantage of the situation. I had many customers tell me they would have been willing to pay double what I charged them. But I thought better prices would bring repeat business, and it did, word of mouth was great. This was just one more example of not taking advantage of opportunities that had come my way.

I woke once more. I was still alone, but not lonely. It was bright but not blinding. It was peaceful and quiet. I still felt nothing; I still felt disconnected. I felt confused. If this was heaven, it’s not what I was promised. If it was hell, I think they exaggerated greatly. No fire, no brimstone. No one else seems to be here. “Hello?” I yell out. “Is anybody here, can anyone hear me?” No response. Suddenly, sometime later, I have no reference for how long, a day, a week, a month, it doesn’t matter; a voice called out my name, “Calvin.” Only my mother called me that. Everyone else called me Michael or CM. The voice was not my mom. It wasn’t distinguishable as a male or female and it was mid-range and tonally neutral. So even though I can’t tell who or what it was, in my mind, I ascribed a maleness to the voice. Again, I heard my name, “Calvin.” It was louder and had just a hint of urgency.

“I’d rather you called me Michael or CM. I hate Calvin. I have ever since I was a kid, I got beat up a lot over that moniker. I started going by Michael around my freshman year of high school.”

“OK, Mike. Can I call you Mike?” The voice asked.