Joseph stared into the microwave. As it hummed along, he liked to imagine that it was singing to him. A thousand times, he’d tried to place the tune it was singing, so he could sing along, but to no avail.

Beep! Beep! Beep! it chirped. He opened the door and plopped his now-warm scone onto a plate. As he hunted in the refrigerator — which, incidentally, seemed to sing a different tune — for the jam, he glanced at his watch. Not much time until he had to leave.

Slathering jam on his scone, he smiled. Nothing like a warm scone on a Friday morning. He took a bite, made a face, and then dumped the lot into the garbage, wiping a fleck of greenish mold from his lips. Nothing like a moldy scone on a Friday morning. He grabbed his keys and his briefcase and headed out, locking the door behind him.

Although he liked to imagine his microwave humming him a lullaby, the most human thing he owned was his car. It was a 1981 Saab, but he called it Julia. He knew of many people that named their cars, but as far as he was aware, he was the only one that actually used that name in conversation.

“Took the bus today, eh Joe?” someone would ask.
“Yeah. Julia’s in the shop,” he would reply. He considered this a sort of friendship test: if a new acquaintance gave him a funny look and walked away, they weren’t a prospective friend. He backed Julia out of the driveway and headed down the road. Her voice was aged but sweet, like an old opera singer. He reveled in the sound: it meant that he’d taken good care of Julia.

His younger self probably would have reacted to his current situation the way most people reacted to him: with confusion. His younger self had been much more stable, and much happier, and hadn’t seen a need to converse with his car. But that was a different person. Joe the Younger — what he called his younger self, a self that he always thought of as a completely different person — may have been a big dreamer, but he had no concept of stability and financial security. Joe the Younger couldn’t get a job at an advertising firm. His hair was too long and his shorts too tattered and his talk too rebellious. There was really no room for a guy like that in an adult’s world.

“How were you last night?” asked Joe.

“Pretty well,” replied Julia. Joe imagined her as having a Swedish accent. “What about you?”

“Well, that bloody storm kept me awake half the night.”

“Was there a storm?”

“Oh yeah, big one, too.”

“Hm…I guess the garage is more well-insulated than I thought. Wait, where are you going?”

“I’m driving to work.”

“That’s the wrong turn…this road goes to Wales!”

“No it doesn’t, unless I stick on it for about two hours! I’m just trying to detour around the road-work.”

“Oh. Is there road work?”

“Yeah. All along Station Road. Something about a water main.”

There was a long silence, and Joe took the time to simply enjoy Julia’s company. He imagined that she enjoyed his company, too.

“Joe? Joe?” She sounded urgent.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve got no petrol left!”

“What?”

“I’m empty!” A light had come on on the dashboard, and the needle was pointing to “Empty.”

“Damn!” Joe exited the highway and pulled into the nearest filling station. It was grimy and unpleasant, the kind of place that Joe liked to avoid. He kept looking over his shoulder, as though such a petrol station automatically generated its own street gang. He imagined such a gang: a bunch of young, muscle-bound thugs wearing chains and leather that loved nothing more than to accost white-collar workers and beat them to death with cricket bats. As this fantasy became clearer and clearer in his mind, he started shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. It seemed almost as though the petrol pump were tormenting him, deliberately pumping too slowly.

When the tank was finally filled, he jogged into the station, slapped down a random amount of money, and hopped back into Julia before the imagined street gang could catch up with him. He jetted out of the station and burned rubber down the road.

“Joe! Joe! Joe! Relax! You nearly got smashed by that lorry!”

“Nnnh!” was all Joe could think to say.

“Calm down! Calm down! You’re driving too fast! Joe! You’re going to run me into something!” And he did. Trying to change lanes, he clipped the front of the lorry that had almost flattened him, spun out of control, and slammed headfirst into the barrier. Julia flipped through the air once, smashed the top of the bonnet on the top of the barrier, and came to rest on her now-mangled wheels.

Joe wasn’t sure if his heart was still beating. He breathed heavily. His eyes didn’t seem to want to focus. Undoing his safety belt, he shoved open the dented driver’s door and fell to the tarmac. He stood up, and walked around Julia twice, assessing the damage. Steam gushed from the radiator. Oil dripped onto the road. All the windows were broken. Two of the doors had flown open and gotten crushed under the car. All the tires were flat. The engine chugged along, just barely running.

“Julia?” he called out loud. The gathering throng of pedestrians gasped, thinking there must be somebody else in the car.

“Yes…” moaned Julia. She sounded exactly how a dying person in a movie sounds, that sort of hissing, drawn-out whisper.

“Are you all right?”

“No…”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Look, you’re going to be all right! You’ll be fine!”

“Joe…I’m dying…”

“No! I’ll find a mechanic! Is there a mechanic here? Is there a mechanic?” By now, his audience was beginning to realize just how off-center this man in the street really was. “I think he’s hit his head,” mumbled someone.

“Joe…I…love you…”

“No! Stop talking like that! You can tell me that later, when you’re well!”

“I’m not going to…get well. This is the end for me…”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m –”

“Joe! The light! It’s time…” The engine sputtered, belched a cloud of black smoke, and died. Joe looked as though he’d been electrocuted. He stood there, shocked, completely still, for a few minutes, and then suddenly threw himself on Julia’s smashed bonnet and wept like a little boy. Just like most of the people he met, the pedestrians slowly backed away, and then went about their business.

The tow-truck came an hour later, but to Joe, it was a mortuary van. It was taking Julia to the automotive graveyard, where she’d probably be picked clean by automotive grave robbers.

Then, he realized something. Sitting on Julia’s bonnet still, as the tow-truck raised her into its bed, was Joe the Elder. He smiled for a moment, took off his necktie, and headed down the road.