I met Leeta in my second year of college. We had three classes together. Unlike a lot of the other girls Leeta had size and style. She was taller than me, and a little hefty with a lot of definition. She didn’t try to hide it with loose clothes, and she had some strut to her gait. Yeah, R Crumb’s kinda girl. My kind too. I used to drive her home after class. I had a used 1974 Volkswagen super beetle. It was bright yellow, had an eight track tape deck, and a dented front bumper. I loved that car. It ran great, got good MPG, and it was small enough to park in tight places.
Leeta lived in a two bedroom flat in Daly City with two other girls, Kimi and Alicia, who I’m told were lovers. Sometimes the four of us would have a couple of beers, put on some music, maybe smoke a joint. We all got along great, had some laughs. But I would’ve felt awkward making moves on Leeta while the other two were there. I kept hoping Alicia and Kimi would go out, and me and Leeta could have the place to ourselves for a while.
One Friday night we got the first heavy rain after a two-year drought. The next day the sun was shining and I was on my way to the laundromat. I made a right turn and water began dripping from under the dashboard onto my left foot. I took a left at the next corner and water dripped on the passenger side.
The mechanic pointed to a row of slots in front of windshield. “Normally fresh air’s delivered into the car through this intake vent. Water entering the vent is routed out through drainage tubes on both sides of the car. I’m guessing you got a mass of dead leaves, bird shit, and wind-blown crap in there blocking the drainage tubes. Rain water’s seeped into the air hoses under your dashboard and it’s leaking out where the hose sections are connected.”
I said, “What’ll it cost to fix it?”
“I’ll have to pull the ventilation system apart, flush it out and put it back in. Labor cost’ll run ya four hundred.”
That was out of my reach. At home I looked under the dash with a flashlight. The plastic air hoses on both driver and passenger sides were about two inches in diameter. I wrapped duct tape around the leaky seams of the hoses. That stopped the leaking, but only for a while.
A more advanced solution occurred to me when I was at the drug store buying condoms. The thought hit me just as I was handing my money to the lady at the counter. I said, “hold on a second,” and went back to the rack and grabbed another package of condoms, one marked extra large. The cashier rolled her eyes and said, “You still want the other ones, big boy?”
Back home I reached under the dash on the driver’s side and pulled down the air hose. I put a bucket under the leaky seam and pulled the two hose sections apart. Water poured out of the left section of the hose. I dried the hose with a towel, slipped an extra large condom onto it, and secured it with duct tape. Then I stuck it all back up under the dash with more duct tape. I repeated the whole procedure on the passenger side. I figured the condoms would hold the rain water, and I could just snip of the ends off and drain them into a bucket. Let it rain.
On Monday I met Leeta for lunch at the student union cafe. I had a table staked out when she showed up. She sat down and asked if I’d drive her home after class.
“Sure.”
She grinned. “Kimi and Alicia are away till tomorrow.”
A light rain was falling, but I felt confident that no water would leak on us. We got a couple of sandwiches and cokes and talked about our upcoming American Lit class where we were discussing Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises. Leeta said Brett Ashley was a bitch to flaunt her sexuality in front of poor Jake who had lost his ability to perform. I countered that she was blameless, because Jake’s misery was inevitable, because he’d feel lousy anyway whenever he met an attractive woman. Finally we agreed to differ.
Traffic on Highway 1 was heavy with commuters. We were merging onto I 280 when the light rain became a raging downpour. The wipers were barely keeping up, but I had no worries. I was looking forward to some alone time with Leeta. I turned left at the bottom of the exit ramp and Leeta gasped, “What the hell is this?”
I glanced over and saw her looking down at an enormous water-filled pink condom hanging from the dashboard, bobbing up and down on her shoes.
“I can explain that,” I said making a right turn, as another huge pink condom plopped out and quivered above my feet.
“Jack! What the fuck?”
We were stopped there at a red light, and I turned to her and started explaining the whole clogged water shedding tube and leaky air ducts story. The light went green, horns started honking. I drove on, looking straight ahead, still trying to explain the reasons behind the enormous, pendulous pink condoms. The more I said, the more ridiculous I sounded.
Leeta was quiet, not saying a word. When I looked over at her, she looked at me with those big brown eyes and busted out laughing.
“Jack, that’s hilarious.”
I felt relieved. “I was afraid you’d think I was some kinda pervert.”
“Pervert’s not the word. You’re full-blown, bat shit crazy. Who does that with condoms? By the way, I hope those aren’t the only ones you got.”
“No, I got more.”
“That’s good. Take the next left. I want to stop for some wine.”
E J Barron
E J Barron 