Cars have never been a true love of mine. But if I were to write my family’s story, I would divide the chapters by whatever was parked in the driveway.
Chapter 1: 1967 Camaro
Mamma, pregnant with me, lies on the hot parking lot pavement beneath her Camaro. My older brother Stephen, five years old, lies in the floor board holding the ends of two wires. Mom finds the starter and gives it a few taps with the side of a crescent wrench.“all right try it!” Stephen touches the wires together and starts the engine.
Chapter 2: 1983 Monte Carlo
Each of the two-doors is heavy enough to kill a child. We all climb in from the same side while Mamma holds the door. As we fight over the middle seat, she reminds us, “don’t touch the ceiling!” A command that is getting more difficult by the day because the soft maroon lining bubbles down as if it is gathering water from an invisible thunderstorm.
To see over the steering wheel Mamma sits on a folded pillow. On the dash rides a switch, long enough to reach our bare legs if we misbehave.
She turns the key and the belt squeals like a sick rooster. Stephen, older now, slides down into the floorboard so no one can see him. My little sister Holly and I laugh. We don’t understand why he is so embarrassed.
Chapter 3: 1990 Dodge Caravan
No power windows, no power locks, no tape player. But it’s brand new, bought right off the lot. Compared to the cracked vinyl seats in the Monte Carlo, the red cloth interior feels like velvet.
When I am old enough to drive, the engine starts burning oil. On the road, concerned drivers chase us down and motion for us to roll down the window. “You’re car is smoking,” they say.
“We know,” we say. “Thank you.”
I land my first job washing dishes at a meat and three down in Helena. My shift starts at 5:00. Cheerleading practice lets out at 4:30. At the red light all the girls I never had a chance with anyway recognize me behind the wheel. They honk and wave. I can’t slide into the floor board because I’m driving. So I rev the motor and vanish behind a cloud of smoke.
Chapter 4: 1992 Jeep Cherokee
I’m seventeen and the tires are out of balance. Its not a big deal cruising around town, but whenever I hit a bump on the interstate the entire car shakes the teeth out of my head.
I’m on my first day with a girl from down the street. She wants to go bowling, just a few miles north up I-65. We’re listening to Dave Matthew’s Band as we approach that treacherous dip just before the bridge that crosses over Valleydale Road. I begin a silent prayer.
“Please lord…please lord…” She’s checking her makeup in the mirror over the visor when we hit. She drops her lip gloss to grab the oh-shit handle above the window. I think she starts to cry.
The only way to stop the shake is to slow down to forty-five. I try to reassure her while merging over to the shoulder.
“D-d-d-d-d-d-oooon’t w-w-w-or-r-ry happens alllll the t-t-t-time.”
Chapter 5: 2000 Audi A4
I’m a grown up. I have a real job. I’m trying to be somebody.
Everything breaks. I can’t afford to fix it.
I no longer trust anything German.
Chapter 6: 2000 Honda Accord (Wes’s Car)
My friend Wes and I are heading west. I’ve sold my car so we’re taking his. I plan to return home from the east. I plan to travel around the world. I don’t know when I’ll see my family again. The dog, Bailey, is old. She won’t be here when I come back. We take a picture. She doesn’t understand.
Two weeks to California. Jobs are supposed to be waiting for us when we get there. Everything is planned.
Chapter 7 (Part 1): 1992 Honda Accord
It has been three years.I don’t plan anything anymore. I’m in Alabama again, heading west. Wes is coming along, but just for the ride. There’s a girl waiting for me in California; Katie.
Chapter 7 (Part 2): 1992 Honda Accord
I’m heading east. Katie is coming with me. In Santa Fe, we wake up to a thin layer of snow covering the windows. I write “Almost Married” on the glass with my finger. She thinks I’m joking.
She descends from German ancestors. I’m in love, but I still won’t buy a German car.
Chapter 8: 1999 Honda CRV
We buy the car with 200,000 miles on it but it’s what we can afford. Koa is born and we drive him home for the first time buckled in to the back seat. We take it to the beach, the mountains.
Millie is born. We hang a rounded mirror on the rear headrest so we can see her face from the front seat.
When the car dies at the foot of our driveway. It will never crank again, but its final act is bringing Katie home safely from work. We mourn the car like an old friend. Then we donate it to NPR.
Chapter 9: 2006 Toyota Highlander
Has it already been eight years since we bought it? 260,000 miles. She’s still running strong, but the a/c goes out every summer. Might be time to get a new one. We’re not doing anything today. We’ll just go look.
Epilogue
The salesman let us test drive a new mini-van, complete with on-board entertainment system, personalized climate zones and multiple headphone jacks so each passenger can listen to his or her own music. No need to agree on one radio station. No need to sweat because Katie is cold. Everything is in place so the family can efficiently ignore one another.
Is this what we have been working for? Is this success?
When we return from the test drive I ask the salesman, “so what’s the price?”
“Well Mr. Thompson,” he shoves his hands in his pockets, “this is a little outside the price range you gave me, but we could easily set you up on a payment plan.” I tell him that we’ll think about it and take his business card.
When we get back to our trusty 2006 Toyota Highlander I put the key in the door to unlock it because we never got the wireless remote. Before stepping in, I look at the cracks beginning to form in the leather seat and laugh at the sock I slid over the armrest where it has already busted through. I look at the clock. Its eleven in the morning. The kids are in school. Neither of us has to work. No car payment to worry about.
We have the whole day and a full tank of gas.
