Shattering:

To begin, you have to realize how much I love Caliente.  He became mine on November 1, 2008.  His name means “hot” in Spanish, and I affectionately call him Cal.  He never betrays my confidence and he takes me anywhere I want to go.  Caliente is my sangria red 2009 Ford Focus.

Monday after school,  I got in my car to drive to dance class.  Pulling out of the student parking lot, I noticed two trails on the lower right hand corner of my windshield that appeared to be water.  I then saw the pieces of glass covering my dashboard and realized that the trails were cracks in my windshield.  Close to freaking out, I called my father, but he was at a meeting and unavailable.  I got a hold of my mother, who was luckily nearby, and she met me in a church parking lot by the high school.  Getting out of my car, the two cracks in my windshield appeared to be the least of the damage.  The bottom right corner was smashed.  The glass was cracked and shattered.

Another thing to understand:  I don’t cry.  I think crying is pointless.  It doesn’t help anything, and it makes my face get blotchy and my eyes puffy.  Therefore, I avoid it at all costs.  The last time I cried was five months ago, and even then, I was using it as a tool and not as an emotional outburst.    I didn’t cry when my best guy friend told me he didn’t want to talk to me anymore, or when I sliced my thumb while cutting a pear (this cutting fruit business is tricky:  I took one step forward cutting my own grapefruit, and then I took two steps back cutting a pear).  However, I not only cried when I saw the state of my windshield, I sobbed.

Back at the high school, my mom and I reported the incident to the police.  It was evident that the damage was no accident; there were two distinct points were it had been hit.  We got ahold of my dad and when he arrived on the scene we went to the student parking lot to check out where I had been parked, hoping for some sort of clue.  There wasn’t one.  Being the under-endowed school that mine is, the cameras installed on the roof don’t work.  The policeman, who had been making jokes in an attempt to lighten the situation, said that they weren’t aimed properly and only showed the roof.  This was not funny.

Luckily 24 hours and a hefty bill later, my Cal was repaired.  However, I’m still livid when I think of who would have messed with him.  Today, my father had a meeting with my principal.  My papa brought up the camera issue.  How can the school spend money on landscaping, like they did last spring, yet not have a working security camera?  How come every other bathroom stall is absent of toilet paper, but we have fresh mulch?  The school’s priorities seem to be slightly askew, here.  Due to the lack of any kind of lead, nothing can currently be done about finding the culprit.  One of my classmates mentioned that he noticed my damaged windshield on his way out to lunch on Monday, which clocks the crime into a time frame of somewhere between 7:45 and 12:00.  Overall, this is not a very conclusive clue.

For now, I am parking in the teacher lot at the front of the school.  I’m keeping my baby well out of harm’s way.  If the attack was purely random and could have been anybody’s car, it’s likely to happen again.  Everyone knows the cameras don’t work, no one has to fear getting caught.  However, if it’s as I believe, someone did this specifically to me.  The identity of my car is common knowledge.  People know that it’s my car.  And it would seem that if it were a random act of vandalism, more cars would have been affected.  I don’t know why someone would do such a thing.  My junior year, when I drove a 1996 Sable, I came out of school one day and all of my windows were painted solid blue with window chalk and sported a few insults to boot.  Fortunately a trip through the car wash removed the color.  Due to the lack of cameras, I couldn’t pursue that act either.  But then, I at least had a few ideas about whom it could be.  Many of the older senior girls didn’t like me.  This year, these girls aren’t around.  Some people dislike me on the grounds that I follow my own drum, so to speak, but I was unaware that anyone was so hateful or jealous or spiteful enough to commit such a crime against me.

I am dying for the villain to be caught.  To have to fess up, pay up, and suffer the consequences.  But since I never actually found out the identity of my car-painter last year, my hopes aren’t very high.  Thankfully I’ll be done with school in 29 days (!!!) and my car will forever thereafter be absent from the high school parking lot, student or teacher.  I am a firm believer in karma, and the only consolance I can offer myself is that the damned fool is going to get what’s coming to him/her.  In the meantime, I’ll try my best to keep Cal out of harm’s way and look out for people with a ResQMe window-puncher on their keychain.

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