My intimate circle of friends all share one non-pharmacological therapist. His name is Craig. Craig has seen most people I know during their varying times of transition, or during the general winter malaise each year. Before I started seeing Craig, my best friend Alex would talk about me with Craig. She would explain the nuances of our relationship and how we were helping each other do what we like to call “spiraling upwards”. Craig has always supported our friendship immensely. In a session with Alex in May of 2023, Craig stressed the importance of us “having a good summer”. We both took this recommendation to heart. I even made a playlist called “Craig said H.A.G.S.”. Although I went on to have the best summer to date, Lucille did not.

Lucille’s summer began with neglect. I was so focused on having a good summer, per my therapist’s recommendation, I thoughtlessly left Lucille with my ex. Without my watchful eye, she was used and abused. I returned from a lovely sailing trip to find Lucille busted wide open. My ex claimed to “have no clue what in the world could’ve happened”. He is so broke and I wanted to maintain a friendship so I did not push him for answers. I took a bitter and cracked Lucille back into my tender loving arms, promising no further harm could be done to her, and that together we would have a fantastic ending to the summer.

Promises mean nothing. Without trust, they are simply words with abstract concepts behind them. Lucille had very little trust in me after the neglect incident, but I was trying to rebuild our good standing on a solid foundation. Unfortunately it proved to be quite difficult to create a solid foundation using dry beach sand. The summer had left me untethered, soaring high with no roots as far as the eye can see. Essentially homeless and high all of the time, I fell short on my promises to Lucille. I could feel her harbored resentment with each passing day.

Lucille’s ill-feelings towards me came to a head one Saturday morning. I hoped we were going to have a positive, action packed day together. My hopes were crushed, just as Lucille was crushed outside of a barber shop on Western Ave. An incoming car swerved into her, narrowly missing my leg mind you, and crumpled her into a broken bent mess. After moving her around to several different care facilities around the greater Los Angeles area, she told me she had enough (in her own way). A young Russian man was working on her when she passed away. He tried to revive her for several days to no avail. Just when I was about to lose hope, the Russian man (Sean Anthony) called me with incredible news. She had made a complete recovery! And could I come pick her up even though it was 2am on a weeknight! Of course I jumped at the opportunity to see my sweet Lucille as soon as possible.

A few weeks later, I once again put Lucille in an uncomfortable position. We had never talked about our sexual kinks. I did not ask her permission before engaging her in an evening of voyeurism. In my defense, it was not a good hookup and although I was not forced to watch, being a part of the bad hookup was torture enough. I did not feel like I owed her an apology because both of us had such a bad time that night. I did not even entertain the idea of doing a post-mortem conversation about that evening with Lucille. The air shifted, Lucille looked at me as if I had been tainted, and in turn tainted her.

Just as we began to get back into the swing of life together, I hurt Lucille in a way that I will be paying for – for a good long while. I was driving through the hills, music was bumping way too loud, and I was brake checked out of nowhere. I am homeless and my car is packed to the brim with with bags. Naturally, all of the bags went flying with such immense forward propulsion that I had no time to act. All I could do was sit in the drivers seat, listening to Playboi Carti, as a full 40oz hydroflask flew into Lucille’s precious touchscreen. She was shattered, and completely unresponsive. Tesla mobile service fixed her right up 24 hours later, but the rapport that Lucille and I had is not something I can fix with Apple Pay.

It is winter now and the sun sets at a ridiculously early hour. Her (head)lights do not shine as brightly as they once did. I can feel the animosity she holds for me each time I get on the freeway. I know she is tired because she frequently pings the “autopilot unavailable” notification. She does not want to open up to me – her frunk latch is sticky (that is the “front trunk” for those who are unfamiliar with Tesla lingo). She has become a power hungry menace that is beginning to be too much for me to handle. It will take me four more years to pay off this car, but I don’t know if Lucille can take another day of me.