Perhaps I should be writing a novel called Fiery Temper instead of Fiery World. For instance, I was thinking last night about the number of times I have told people to pull- their- cars- over- to- the-side- of- the- road- and Let Me Out.
There was JC, the villain from Queens. I asked to be let out of his new Mercedes on Sixth Avenue and about Ninth street. We’d been together for a year; he said we could have a church wedding and he kept referring himself as “single” both to me and other people. I don’t know, it just annoyed me.
A few years later there was a merchant marine I was seeing. I picked up a post-it note in his car and it was in the perfect loopy writing of a woman with a high school education. He’d been staying at her apartment so much lately, she had written, she thought that he should be contributing to the rent. She was disappointed that she had to bring it up herself…. .
I will always remember with some glee the shock on his face when I said Let Me Out and got out of his car in a busy street. It was the last I ever saw him, despite the dozen roses he sent. “Aren’t you going to call him?” my grandfather asked plaintively when he saw the roses (I was living with him at the time.) Grandfather, no I ain’t.
The third time I came to the conclusion that the person in the driving seat was not feeling calm. Suffice it to say when I got out of the car Let Me Out Here, Please I could no longer hear him. The lesson is — if you’re not there, you can’t hear it and if you can’t hear it, it can’t hurt you — or others. It works for me.