How Old Betsy Flipped and Soared Again.

@Mavia

In the annals of my memories, there's a chapter dedicated to an old friend named Betsy - a 1998 Honda Civic that wasn't just a car handed down to me by my late uncle, but a steadfast companion on the winding roads of life. Betsy had seen her fair share of wear and tear, her paint dulled by the sun and her engine humming with the stories of countless miles. However, her true moment of reckoning, a night etched in memory, was when she flipped over on a deserted road, forever binding her tale to mine.

It was a moonlit night, the sky a canvas of twinkling stars, as Betsy and I ventured down a remote road, chasing shadows and savoring the solitude. The hum of her engine and the sound of tires on gravel were the only companions we needed. Little did we know that fate had something else in store for us that night.

A sharp bend emerged suddenly, my grip on the steering wheel tightened instinctively, but it wasn't enough. Betsy's tires skidded, and the world seemed to twist as we flipped over. The crunching of metal was accompanied by a symphony of shattering glass, leaving me dazed and hanging upside down, suspended by my seatbelt.

"Betsy?" I whispered, as if calling out to an old friend. Pain pulsed through my body, and adrenaline surged as I unhooked the seatbelt and fell onto the roof. The car's underbelly faced the night sky, like a wounded animal lying on its back.

"Are you okay, old girl?" I mumbled, my words more to reassure myself than to elicit a response from the car. Trembling, I braced myself against the roof and pushed with all my might. Inch by inch, the car wavered, responding to my desperate determination. Grunting and gasping, I pushed until Betsy was back on her four wheels.

As I stood by the road, battered and bruised, I looked at Betsy, who now bore fresh scars and a mangled form. The moonlight played upon her crumpled body, casting eerie shadows that seemed to mirror my own sense of vulnerability.

"Come on, Betsy," I muttered, my voice a mix of fatigue and exasperation. The engine sputtered and coughed, then roared back to life. I limped to the driver's seat, my ribs screaming in protest, and grasped the wheel with a determination fueled by raw adrenaline.

The journey back home was a shaky one, every bump and turn sending jolts of pain through my body. The taste of blood lingered on my lips, and my vision blurred intermittently. I clung to the wheel, each mile bringing me closer to the haven of my mother's house.

When I pulled into the driveway, the soft glow of the porch light was a beacon of solace. Weakness overcame me as I stumbled out of Betsy's embrace and into my mother's waiting arms.

"What happened?" My mother's voice was a soothing balm to my battered soul.

"Flipped... Betsy... back," I managed to utter between ragged breaths, my voice a whisper of the trials I had just faced.

Hours later, I awoke in a sterile hospital room, the muted beeping of machines surrounding me. My head throbbed, and my body ached as if reminding me of the trials I had endured. My mother sat beside me, her eyes weary but relieved.

"You're awake," she said softly, her hand reaching out to hold mine.

"Yeah," I managed a weak smile. "Betsy?"

"The car is being taken care of," she reassured me. "But you're the one I worried about the most."

This was one of the only times she didn't lecture me for being irresponsible. I thought I must've died and gone to Heaven. Some details are a bit foggy, as I walked away with a concussion, but according to my family, mostly my mother, this is what happened.