APART

Every lawyer has a basic conflict. They are sworn to uphold justice, but they also have a duty to advocate for their client. For this reason, I didn’t hold anything that happened against my ex-wife’s lawyer. The division of property met the legal muster of the State of California, and certainly benefited his client, but it served Lady Justice as if she didn’t tip. He just followed the formula: Individual property is what you come into the marriage with and community property is whatever you acquire during the course of the marriage.

The way my wife and I met was a car wreck, no euphemism intended. The sun was low in the sky and its golden light blinded her as she turned left and buried the front of her Honda Civic into the side of my classic 1970 AMC Javelin. It was the love of my life, primer spots and all, and I was furious. Until I laid eyes upon my car’s assassin.

She was so short that the airbag had hit her straight in the nose. She had huge dark eyes, welling with tears. The blood from her broken nose ran down her face, covered in weird white airbag powder, making it look like she was wearing Kabuki makeup. My heart melted.

Neither one of us had insurance and the only action the police took was to write us both a ticket. I went with her to the emergency room and within a few weeks, once her bruised lips were kissable, we started dating. I wasn’t really sure whether she liked me or if she just felt guilty about trashing my car. After we had been dating for two years, she surprised me on my birthday with a 1971 AMC Javelin, almost identical to the one she had wrecked, but in slightly better shape.

We moved in together for economic considerations and, like a boulder rolling down a mountain toward a shack, we ended up getting married. We were too young and we grew apart, instead of together. We both wanted the divorce and had reached an agreement about the terms, but when her lawyer saw that the Javelin was registered in her name, he was adamant.

“Can I at least have the custom gear shift knob?” I asked the lawyer.

“No. You need to give her every single piece.”

I stood under the carport and said my goodbyes and then, with tears in my eyes, I got out my wrenches. It took me eight hours to fully disassemble the car and carefully place the pieces in a dozen heavy duty plastic trash cans. The law was laid down and I was fully compliant.