We Have a Heartbeat

The morning after my car was towed home, I got up as usual, turned on the computer, took my vitamins, but instead of making my breakfast smoothie I simply got back into bed. Starting the day meant dealing with my car, and I hated the very idea. About an hour later I heard John making his breakfast in the kitchen. He was up early, for him. I continued to try to go back to sleep and dream of winning lottery numbers, but it wouldn't happen. At nine I finally dragged myself up and made my protein drink. Since my blender can wake the dead, John knew I was awake.

He came to my door and shouted, "Get up, Mary! We have to see what's wrong with your car!" So not only was my car broken, but John was being nice and I'd be beholden to him. I told him to go away so I could get dressed.

John had many ideas and theories about my car. I think he'd stayed up late contemplating it. Of course it started when I turned the key, pretending there was nothing wrong. John had me unplug the phone charger I usually keep plugged into the cigarette lighter, and put this battery and alternator tester in there. I did this with the car off, with it on, with the lights off and on. It always said that everything was just hunky dory. John was perplexed, but not dumb enough to ask if my car had actually died.

Instead, he posited that my phone charger was to blame. Its cord acted as an antennae and some random bad signal had traveled through it and into my car's electrical system. All I had to do was unplug it and all would be well. But, but, it was still plugged in when I started the car a few minutes ago. And, while I'm no mechanic, and wouldn't be impolite to someone who was going out of their way to help me, that idea made no sense to me whatsoever. And I believe in a lot of things.

Without saying anything, I obviously communicated my doubt. He went and got another tester and put it directly on the battery. It said my battery was fine, and somehow this proved John's point (in his mind). All this took several minutes. Then he had me shut the car off and restart it. It refused.

There was no attempt, just a deadness that convinced John it had nothing to do with my starter, but had to be the battery. The battery that his testers showed was just fine. So he disconnected it. And the connection on the positive side was corroded. This seemed to be important. I was feeling so panicked again, thinking about how much it'd cost to fix all this, that I couldn't appreciate how wonderful it was that my connection was corroded. But John was happy about it.

He took a knife and started scraping at the corrosion. I stepped away, instinctively knowing that it wouldn't be good to let any of that stuff get on me. When he reconnected it, the car started up, and sounded just slightly better. It's nothing I can describe well, just a feeling that it wasn't trying as hard. And John thought the lights looked brighter. I figured we were both just trying to convince ourselves that we'd solved it.

We came inside and I had an email from a friend who is more knowledgeable than I am about cars, but too far away to come fix it for me. He'd read my whine the night before about what happened and suggested a couple things, with emphasis on the battery connections. That made me feel better. After more discussion with him I decided I ought to buy a new battery, not just depend on cleaning off the corrosion. Mine was four years old, and supposedly good for three.

John was happy with that idea. We could have a hot dog lunch at Costco! I can see Gwen's face, smiling at how happy a hot dog from Costco could make John. We went back outside to take the old battery out of my car. I started having flashbacks to the last time I needed one, in Florida. My handyman neighbor, Moe, had insisted on doing it for me. And, as it turned out, I couldn't have done it myself because I didn't have the tools necessary. There's an L-shaped bar that holds my battery in place and you need to reach way down the side of it, to where the bar is connected at the bottom, and unscrew the bolt. No one's hand can reach, due to other pieces-parts, so a specific tool is needed. Don't ask me what it's called. I could pick it out of a line-up, if I had to, but that's it.

I remembered how Moe had let that bolt drop, and after much cursing had used a long, magnetic rod to poke around in my car's guts till the bolt stuck to it. I remembered the whole, long, stressful day when I got that battery. And then I tried to forget, because bringing negative energy into the current situation wouldn't help at all. It went pretty well. He got it unscrewed, very carefully took it off and handed it to me, and grunted a small complaint about there being no handle on the battery as he picked it up and immediately set it down on the road. He left, and since I didn't know what he was off in search of, I thought I'd be helpful and put the battery in his truck. I took it over to the garage, found a sturdy box and set it inside, then placed it on the back seat of the pickup. He was taking a lot of his time for me, and I just wanted to make the process easier.

He came out of the house and announced that he'd get the hand truck so we could move that battery. I almost hated to tell him, but I said it was already in the truck, ready to go. He looked. He said, "Mary, you're never going to catch on to the helpless female routine, are you?" I didn't bother to explain to him that, while I enjoy having a man do things for me, I don't enjoy it if there might be something expected in return. And John is the tit for tat type.

At Costco I learned that I couldn't use a credit card (I pretended that didn't upset me), and that it'd cost $74. for a new one (I didn't cry, but does anyone need any weeding or cleaning done?). The man asked if I needed assistance bringing the used battery in and I was too frazzled to think about his or anyone else's male ego. I just walked out and grabbed the thing and brought it in. When I did so, everyone inside was laughing. So after the transaction was completed, and John and I were walking over to the hot dog stand, I said, "What were you all laughing at? Tell me."

He said, "Oh, I just said that I'd better stay out of your way."

He must've felt it necessary to say something about how he was "letting" the little lady go do the hard work. I bought his hot dog for him and he was happy with that.

I thought we'd simply put the new battery in, connect and tighten and be done. No. The part that holds the battery has two tracks leading down to depressions (but no holes). I don't understand why the design is necessary, but it looked like it had some corrosion built up, especially in the depressions. John told me to vacuum it out. I put on a t-shirt that I didn't care about, just in case, and vacuumed. It didn't do much. So I chipped at it with a file. John decided that getting the hose was a good idea, and he filled this thing with water. I said, "Now what? I don't think it's good for my car to splash this water out." He told me to use a rag and sop up the water, wringing the rag out several times as I completed the task. That sounds so much simpler than it was. I kept stopping and rinsing off my car, in case any acid, however watered down, was getting on my paint.

When we were finally ready to lift the new battery into place, I did it. Again, I automatically thought I should do the hard work, since John was already spending most of his day on my problem. I wish we had a video of this portion of the day's events. There's a cozy that fits over the battery (I don't know why -- to keep the battery warm?), and when I set it down the cozy caught on the positive connection. The new battery was much heavier than the old one, and even with a handle to hold onto, I was having a hard time.

I said, "John, it's stuck on the connection. Push it back so I can let it down." The problem was, I was in the way of him doing that. And I couldn't move back a step while still holding a very heavy object at an already awkward angle. He'd have to touch me, with the back of his hand, in order to grab the connection. Specifically, the back of his hand would come into contact with my chest. He hesitated. I said, "Today, please" though I'd have preferred not to expend energy on speaking. He did it, I set the battery down, then we both backed up and talked about how it was such a good idea that we'd cleaned that area out first. I thought of the movie Planes, Trains & Automobiles, when Steve Martin and John Candy wake up and realize where their hands have been while they slept, then immediately begin talking about sports.

I remembered why there was no handle on the old battery. Moe had taken it off in order to get the L-shaped bar into place. When I told John he took it as a challenge and was determined to get the bar on without losing the handle. And he did. But then he a problem with the connector. That's twenty minutes of my life I'll never get back. Finally, after undoing the bar, taking the battery back out, solving the connector issue, and putting it all back in, John dropped the bolt off the bar. He cursed.

I thought he left to go get one of those magnetic rods, and I used the time to search with a flashlight. I located the bolt, but of course couldn't reach it. He came back saying he couldn't find the magnet thing. I told him I'd found the bolt, and just needed something "long and pinchy" to get it out. He brought me kitchen tongs. I said, "You're kidding, right?" I was thinking of needle nose pliers, maybe. But I slid the tongs in between the battery and some hoses, grabbed the bolt on the first try, and somehow managed to bring it up without dropping it.

I said, "I can't believe that worked."

John said, "I can't believe you found it in there."

I said, "When will you acknowledge that I am The Finder of Lost Things?"

He laughed.

So, the battery settled into its new home, the Saturn started right up several times, and we decided that we'd solved the problem. I rinsed the car off again, and the street where I'd wrung out the rag, and John rinsed out the vacuum cleaner. We put away all tools and I moved my car back into the driveway. Today I started it up and let it run for 15 minutes, then turned it off and back on a couple of times. All good. I haven't gone anywhere yet, because it's a holiday weekend and if we didn't actually solve the problem, I won't have any mechanic shop to take it to till Tuesday. And you only get so many tows a year with AAA.

I baked brownies for John last night and he was pleased with that as a thank you. He just left to see the woman he's dating, and I'm pleased about that.

I'm hoping that, even though my car has some years on it, it's still in good condition and just wanted a new part. Oh, that reminds me. Mike, the CHP officer, looked at my tires as we waited for the tow truck the night before last and said that, while they may be old, they still have plenty of tread on them. He thought the Big Brand Tires guy was just trying to sell me new ones. So I feel better about that.

All's well that ends well, and hopefully this is the end of my car adventures.