Junk in the Trunk: The Billy Ocean Remix

I hate going back to the past, the fond memories of being accepted into grad school for film and learning the finer points of financial aid.

1.) College is important. You should go. Here, we'll give you free credit cards...you don't even need to apply for them. $6,000.oo limit.

2.) Graduate school after college is not deemed a necessity by our great government. Therefore, you only get a certain amount.

But what if the cost of tuition exceeds my financial aid and my family doesn't qualify for private loans?

"I'm sorry. I'm on vacation at Camp David and watching my dog dig holes. He's a digger. He likes to dig. I didn't go to grad school. In fact, I didn't really graduate from college. My name did though!" -- Some utopian douche president.

After landing in Los Angeles, I had no place to stay. Credit pushed to the limit, private loans were denied and my parents had no idea the journey I was embarking upon.

(My family keeps secrets...I remember a phone call once from my sis as she sobbed over Dad's pending back and nerve reconstructive surgery.

"His what?" I yelled.

"Mom didn't tell you? What's wrong with our family? First Grandpa's heart attack and now this..." she cried.

"Grandpa had a heart attack???"

You get the picture. Just call us Desperate Minnesotans -- not all things are okay, you betcha!

After I moved here, I couch hopped. Literally. Shaved in the bathroom at the college, made friends quick and couch hopped. But I did spend many a nights in my beloved Honda Accord. With the seat reclined as far back as humanly possible, I usually wept until the day faded away. The car was my sanctuary. My rock. My place of solitude where a hundred years and a pandemic of Cholera could drive passed, and it wouldn't bother me. My tranquil Zen of Honda!

I loved my car. It may not have looked like it though...

I had junk. Junk in my trunk. From years gone by. It wasn't that I was lazy but the fact that I was clinging onto that aspect of my being. Memories. It stayed that way for the last few years. And then last night...

Ring

Ring

I grabbed my phone.

"Hello?" I whispered.

"Jack, it's Esther...your trunk is open and I think your car was broken into." she replied.

4:30 in the fucking morning and I flew like a bat out of hell down the steps, around the back and into the garage and there it was...

My driver's side window smashed to bits. Peering inside, I found my disorganized mess in place. Nothing was gone. Not the stereo, garage clicker, dvds, cds, the wad of ones and fives I had resting on the passenger seat (I know, I know...I don't need a lecture about money in the car.)

I looked at the tragedy, sounded my car alarm and walked up the steps. Maybe it was time to move on. Afterall, my driver's side window motor was burnt out, the cost of that coupled with replacement glass would've amounted to a nifty down payment.

My car's been through hell and back along with a misadventure into Mexico with a Slovakian girl without a passport. Oh, the memories.

Rolling into Honda of Hollywood, I parked my car and a little old guy named Karim walked towards me.

"I need a new car."

Karim took one look at my battered betty and nodded.

"We'll take care of you, Jack."

After a couple hours of credit checks and lame paperwork dealings, I got approved and found a cool little Sedan that fit my persona. Never been one for the flash, more sensible, I found myself sitting in the backseat and eyeing the leg room for my friend's wee little one and his car seat. I just couldn't imagine having the little guy rolling in a crappy ride.

When the paperwork was near completion, I looked up at Karim and said I had a few things I needed to take out of the car and put into my new ride. He followed me out and looked inside...shaking his head in disbelief.

"Do you need all this?" He asked.

"But you should've seen what I pulled out before I came--" I replied.

Grabbing some trash bags, we began the arduous task of sifting through the last 6 years of my life in Los Angeles. The highlight was finding a musical recorder that belonged to a great kid that left us all far too early. I can't help but feel that he was whispering to me, saying "let go, Jack."

It was time. Long over-due. Now my soul feels a bit lighter. I took one last picture of the backend of my Honda with it's Minnesota license plate.

And I bid farewell of the life once had.