Monday, February 18
I was cleaning in the kitchen when I noticed the time.
Adrian should be getting home any time soon now, I thought to myself.
30 seconds later, he walked through the front door. VR, our dog, ran to greet him.
He looked dejected, sad and not as relaxed as I’d expect him to look after visiting his physical therapist.
“You want to see the truck?” he asked me and my mom.
“What happened to Donkey?” I asked. (Yes, Adrian named his Ford Ranger Donkey.)
“He got hit,” he said in that tone that he only uses at rare times, like the time he woke me up and told me Grandpa Bartolo had passed away.
“What?” I asked incredulously. My mom didn’t say anything. She must have already heard the news.
Adrian led us out the driveway where we inspected the damage on Donkey. The driver’s was banged up pretty bad between the door and the back tires.
“The door won’t open,” he told me.
I started asking questions. How? Where? Huh? You can’t have such bad luck, can you?
Adrian explained, but I’m still confused about what happened. An employee at the physical therapy office was getting stuff out of her car, when it began to roll down a hill — I think the parking brake was off — and hit Adrian’s parked truck. Adrian was in the middle of a physical therapy session when he heard a large boom. He says that the woman’s car would have hit the office if the truck hadn’t obstructed it’s path.
Oh, and why is Adrian in physical therapy? Well, that’s because about three weeks ago, he and his girlfriend were in a car accident. They were hit from behind after merging on to the freeway. Her car was pretty banged up, they weren’t seriously hurt. However, both suffer back pain. Adrian’s on disability leave from work where he has to do a lot of heavy lifting. He’s also had to stop lifting weights. He tells me he watches a lot of TV and plays a lot of video games. Being a bum doesn’t suit the kid, but he has no choice.
I think Adrian’s current bad luck streak might be worse than the time I survived being bug bombed by my roommate and almost slipping on a burrito (true story). At least he hasn’t had any dental or ear incidents this time around.
Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed.
[A note on the title: Everyone in my house is known by about 4 or 5 different nicknames. I usually call my younger brother Chunk.]