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"No, No, No! Don't you dare you miserable piece of shit! NOOOOOO!" I screamed as I impotently pounded my fists on the steering wheel of my Chevy Malibu. The steam pouring up from under the hood was growing so thick I could hardly see, so I reluctantly pulled off the road and hit the brakes, sending up a cloud of brown dirt from the packed earth shoulder. I turned off the engine and sat silently as the thick Arizona dust swirled and mingled with the steam escaping from the radiator. After another short tantrum I leaned on the steering wheel and wept. It wasn't even noon, and June 21, 1980 already seemed like it was going to be one of the worst days of my life.

---*---

My husband and I had moved to North West Phoenix with our infant son four months ago, after his company had transferred him. At first I was excited to be living close to mom and dad, who had moved to the nearby retirement community of Sun City three years ago. Although it was great being near them - they were a great help with the baby - the sad truth was, they were pretty much the only people I socialized with. I desperately missed my friends back in San Diego, but after Tom and I got into a huge fight when he got our first phone bill I hardly spoke to them anymore. He told me I needed to make new friends, but how was I supposed to meet anyone here? It's too hot to go outside, there's no beach, no sidewalk cafes or street life, and I had a 10 month-old baby to look after. ...

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