Ride of My Life

So I finally got my revenge. You should have seen the look on her face as I dribbled that oil all over the ground, trying to write my name in the asphalt with Mobil 1. The trouble is, they never do teach cars how to write. And then, just as I expected, she pried my mouth wide open, and ha! I gave her a face full of smoke. Well she deserved it; she should have treated me better. Now she just glared at me and trekked off down the beltway to the exit ramp. Randallstown: that was where I abandoned her, my tormentor. She will believe that this was all her fault, but heck, it was. She should have listened to me. I am equipped with these lights and bells for a reason. If you ignore me, beware the consequences.

I had a hard life, and in a way I am glad it is over, although I will never get to see my sixth birthday or get to proudly whirl my odometer digits to 100,000 miles. My mother would have been so proud, if I had a mother. I don't even remember being born. One day, just there I was, sitting on the assembly line in Springfield, Illinois being painted pine green. I was going to make some new car owner proud, they told me as they waxed and buffed, rubbing me down with soft orange rags. I could see my reflection in the factory glass; I was a hot car. Hey, the letters on the side of me even read ESCORT. I know what that means, someone to take places and show off.

And, as it happened, I did start out with that kind of life. A few days later I was rolled onto a truck with 11 of my compatriots and got to ride in style all the way from Illinois to Alexandria, Virginia. If you are not a car, there is no way you could imagine how amazing this was. What a view. Winding road, minimalls, rest areas, and gas stations. There were huge trucks, small convertibles, even cars that looked exactly like me but dirtier of course. The wind wafted at my hood and sides, I just wanted to get off that truck and look around for myself, but they had fastened me to the truck with steel cables on my tires. That was when I swore to myself that once I was free, I would only do what I wanted; I wouldn't let anyone tie me down again.

Finally we got there, Len Stoler Ford of Alexandria. I couldn't believe how many cars there were there, all of them trying to show me up, to be prettier, bigger, faster, a regular meat market. With six other cars on my truck almost identical to me, I needed a way to stand out. But what can I say, the people love green.

Don't believe me? Well how about this? The next day, I got test drove. Nobody ever forgets their first test drive; it's up there with the first fill up at the gas station (mine was at a Shell) and of course, the first oil change. On my first drive, I decided to take the Jake and Elizabeth and Sam, the guy in the suit who insisted on blocking my windows with stickers, to the interstate. I had never been on the interstate before, since some parts of it don't allow trucks. I was a little nervous at first, what if my engine didn't start, or my seats were uncomfortable, or my wipers came on randomly? How embarrassing that would be.

But it ended up going great, at least I thought so. I had this amazing transmission, 5-speed, the only way to go. And these people let me go as fast as I wanted, so let me tell you, I was pushing 80! Everything just flew by, trees, buses, other stuff. It was the happiest day of my life.

Well except for the next day. That was when Liz and Jake came back! They wanted me! Me! Out of all those other cars and trucks and vans and minivans and pickups and yay I was being adopted; I was going to a real home. They gave me a garage to live in, which was so sweet of them. Some cars have to live on the street you know. They are left vulnerable to mud, frost, leaves, and bird poop. I hate bird poop. What a way to ruin a good wash; birds love green cars.

But I was safe in my garage. It was big, a 2-car with a brown, metal door that opened with push of a button. There floor was concrete; I would have rather had carpet like at the dealer, but I learned to cope. There were a few bikes hanging on the wall, and a gray tool bench, besides that I had the whole place to myself.

There was already an old, black Jeep living at the house, but she was banished to the driveway when I came along; there wasn't enough room in the house for both of us. I figured we'd get along, as long as she didn't cross me. She was Jack's and I was going to be Elizabeth's. I was her first car ever so they wanted me to stay clean and well maintained. They had been saving up to buy me since their wedding 3 years earlier, so they wanted me to last.

Ah, what a life! A wash once a week whether I needed it or not, trips to Tune and Lube every three thousand miles, waxes once every 2 months, all the perks of being a car. I saw so many places, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Washington DC, New York, Florida. I even got to go to Europe. Yea right; you can't drive to Europe. But it was just perfect. They bought me all kinds of presents, plush gray floor mats to match my interior, a blue bumper sticker that read: Virginia is for lovers, a pine scented tree to hang from my rear view mirror, and all kinds of parking permits. There was the white hang tag that said Roanoke University Faculty; that was my first, which made it the most special. I never took it off.

I was becoming famous around town too. One time when I was sitting next to a fire hydrant waiting for Liz to come out of the bank, a real life police officer left a note on my window! She didn't seem very happy to see it, though. Can you believe that? My own passenger was jealous of me. Well that's when I knew I had made it. I was the one that drivers wanted.

My life went on like that for a while, but one day it all came crashing down. Liz and Jake started fighting, and let me tell you, all that slamming was getting pretty hard on my doors. Some days she would climb in at midnight and we would drive for hours, her tears pelting the vinyl of my steering wheel. My usually spotless interior was being filled with candy wrappers and paper cups from Starbucks. I didn't know what was going on, but I knew I was missing my 3-month scheduled maintenance for the first time ever. Then one evening, instead of me taking her home and spending the night in my garage, she left me in the parking lot at a bus station. I never saw her again.

I sat there for what seemed like weeks. I could feel the gas in my tank slowly corroding me until I starved. My windshield became covered with leaves, red, yellow, orange, rather pretty until they turned a cold, crusty brown. Then came the snow and ice, and hadn't even been prepped for winter; I had no chains on my tires or antifreeze. Someone even put salt on me, like I was a big green pretzel. I thought I would die out there, alone and unwashed. Eww! I hadn't done anything to deserve that.

Finally an angel came to rescue me. He scraped the ice off my windshield and told me he was getting me out of there. He was wearing a black denim shirt that said Hank's Towing on the pocket. And then it happened; instead of getting a chance to fire up my decaying engine, he grabbed a metal cable and tied me to the back of a truck. My front tires were several feet off the ground while the rears were left to drag on the slick pavement. I was never going to be nice to people again. Ever.

There was Jake waiting for me at the Shell station where I'd gotten my first tank of gas. I couldn't forgive him, even after I was washed, checked, and tuned up. Someone finally got rid of those damn Starbucks cups, but it was just too much.

I eventually found my way back to my garage, but he wouldn't open the door for me. The black Jeep that had waited outside without complaint all those years had taken over my home. He stuck me on the frozen grass with a bright orange sign taped to each of my windows. How humiliating. This was worse than sitting in the showroom. People came by and poked at me, opened my doors and kicked my tires. Some even messed with my hatch. Why couldn't they just leave me alone? I saw all kinds of cars pass me on the road with their drivers and passengers, but I just sat and sat on the lawn. No one even wanted a test drive.

Every day I stared as Jeep got driven off and I was just there, the silent green watchman. Jack would wipe me off every once in a while and change the numbers on the sign with a black permanent marker. I guess one of those combinations worked because some man came by from Maryland, read my sign, and the next day we were a couple. I knew that would show Jack; I was leaving him too, but he seemed really happy to see me go. Men, they are all the same.

Well I finally had someone to listen to my awesome engine again; too bad he wore such strong cologne. Every day my seats got infested with Old Spice and I no longer had my pine tree to fend it off. He also took my parking permit, just ripped it off like a piece of garbage. He filled me up with soda cups, straw wrappers, and books and magazines with weird titles like CompuWorld. But the main thing that bothered me was that he drove me way too slow. How was I supposed to get any respect chugging along at 40 miles an hour? I found myself longing for that cold parking lot.

Ha! I'd teach him to treat me like that! First I blew out my right rear tire when he was late for work because I "accidentally" ran over the curb at the stoplight for Georgia Avenue. Then I shorted out some sparkplugs to boot. I hoped he would get the hint and show off my speed. But no, he gave up on me altogether. One afternoon as I sat in the driveway he walked right past me to the red Saturn. I didn't want to go back to sitting on the cold, wet lawn.

But as luck would have it, I was approached by a young woman with golden brown hair and a bright smile. It was Elizabeth; she had come back for me! She hopped in and slammed on my gas pedal without popping the clutch. So okay, maybe it wasn't her. This new girl had no clue how to drive me properly and was going to ruin my transmission. I decided to shudder and hop and make her look like the fool that she was. When she really pissed me off, I stalled, shutting off my engine altogether. She tore out my floor mats and replaced them with pink plush ones that read "Road Gurl". She stuck a CD player in my trunk and made me play it constantly, like I didn't have enough to do with the hopping and all. At least she got rid of those heavy books and sticky soda cups, and I had a brand new tree. It was yellow and smelled like vanilla, but it was way too strong, and made me a little nauseated.

Speaking of nausea, have you ever tasted oil? It is terrible, coarse and bitter. Trust me; I know. Well you know what that moron did after only driving me for two months? Two months! She busted up my engine! There we were, her slamming on my gas like a mad woman, me hopping and stalling, and she slams me into a pot hole! That bitch! There was oil all over my engine and I could feel a draft coming up from underneath. I realized that the only way out of this situation was to take my own life; this is how I ended here, alone and powerless, two miles from Randallstown. I figure I'll end up in the scrap metal pile at Alpha Ridge with all those Chevy Novas. Everything is getting dark.

Hey! What happened? This place looks like the warehouse where I was born, but this is not Springfield; there are no other Fords here. Is this heaven? I feel like me, but different. Someone's coming over; she is wearing coveralls like the man from the Shell station. Well at least this isn't the scrap heap; I really wasn't ready to die, just needed to escape. But to where? She is getting in and turning my key. Whoa! I have a brand new engine! And a new transmission! I even have new hubcaps! Now if only . .

Yes! We are driving! Coveralls is driving me, and fast.