I was driving somewhere on my own, at night, and for some reason this made me very proud. I felt independent and accomplished, and I was completely fine with being by myself. I drove my car through a parking garage, trying to find an empty spot. I went all the way up to the top level and found no spots, so I started coming back down.
The driveways were at a slope, and as I headed down one of them, I realized that I was going too fast. I knew I needed to hit the brakes, but I didn't. I suddenly took on a decidedly uncharacteristics live-and-let-live attitude and decided that if fate had determined that I was going to hit another car, then that's exactly what I would do.
And that's exactly what I did.
The car was parked illegally, and it was next to another car that was parked illegally, and there really wouldn't have been any good way to squeeze my Mazda between the two cars without doing a lot of maneuvering. Without any maneuvering, I ran into the car on the left. I think it was a Ford Escort. Turquoise. I smashed it up pretty good. The owner of the Escort happened to be standing beside her car. She was about my age and didn't seem too broken up about what I'd done.
I produced a cell phone from my glove compartment and called my dad. Even though he wasn't there and had no way of knowing what shape the other car was in, he told me I had totaled the girl's Escort and would have to pay for it myself.
I said, fine, I would. Then I hung up, got back in my car, and started driving again.
I found a parking lot, but it was a little too small for my car. I tried to pull in anyway. When I did, though, I hit a Jeep that was either in front of me or behind me, I can't remember which. No one was in the Jeep, and I figured I would have to write a note to the owner and put it on the windshield. For a minute, I considered not writing a note and just driving away. But, suddenly, I acquired a much-needed sense of responsibility and realized that I had wrecked two people's cars, and, I realized, my own. I looked at the front of my Mazda and saw that it was completely smashed up. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it before.
There were other parts to the dream, I know, but the only part I remember clearly is driving down the street that leads to my subdivision. I was passing my subdivision, as though I was afraid to go home. It was daytime, and looked like spring, and I felt better in my car (which, I suppose, was still smashed up) than anywhere else.