I didn’t really have anywhere to go Thursday, but I decided since I had a car, I could find someplace. So, I got in the car, and decided to take inventory before I started out on my first solo adventure in some time.

After I’d discovered almost $5.00 in change in the ashtray, I decided to head to the Greek place down the street to celebrate my good fortune with a falafel combo. While I was waiting for my food, I started thinking about the other things that I had found. I’d found a lady’s watch that no longer kept time, ten hair pins, a scratched out grocery list, three pens and a coin from Thailand. I found a set of directions under the driver’s seat and a can of pepper spray under the passenger’s. I didn’t bother to go through the glove compartment before I threw everything I couldn’t use in there.

I wondered if I should feel bad about being the beneficiary of a divorce. I do feel bad. Not for my gain, but for their loss. No matter how okay they say they each are about it, I can’t believe them. I can’t believe it even from this couple I never stood in the same room with. Even though I know next to nothing about their relationship or their lives together, I can’t believe it’s okay. Divorced is just another word for broken hearted, I know that’s not okay.

It doesn’t matter what they say.

But I can’t dwell on broken hearts too long. It makes me lose my optimistic focus for the future, it makes me remember my own brokeness, it makes me wonder how I’ll make it though my next broken heart.

So I shake my head and consider the irony of my situation, about how I couldn’t come up with a better fiction of how I came to drive this car.

I’m driving my ex-boyfriend’s ex-wife’s ex-car.