I have decided to author a story from the perspective of my car. I have changed the names and places to protect the criminally insane, or the innocent as well.
I am a 1972 Chevy Nova. Let me tell you some stories: I may come across to you as a bit smug or proud at times but what do you expect, I am 100% American muscle. I have 350 horses under my lid, and I am a twelve second car on a good day. I am all-stock, no mods. I love my original Chevy Blue that just dances off the lights at night. I have a ragtop that is a pearl white, and it just glows in the dark when the moon is full. But over the years the heat wears it out, and it comes off and then it becomes as clean blue as my body. Good choice. My body howls and my engine screams at night, wanting to cut loose and run with the wild. I have some friends, loyal cohorts that I play tag with on Saturday nights. Carl’s Red Mustang comes to mind. He howls a bit, but he’s too cocky and all bark, no bite. Best is a fourteen on the lanes. But he’s clean. Stacy is dangerous. She has her gold Chevelle, and it’s hot, she is the talk of the town, and her twelves are normal. One sub twelve on a Sunday night brought everyone to a freight. No one want to run with her. I do it for fun, but all I ever see is her reds. Dave, Steve, Brian, Ritchie, and Mark all have the goods to run, so we all tangle on Saturday night and lay down the bills. I’m usually in the top three every week.
Master calls me Suzi Blu. Why? Well love, of course. The girl? Suzanne Hughes. He thought this was the one she did too for a while. But it only lasted for 10 months, and then she moved to Fruita, Co. She was a dream, a vision. And yet she was the pure gold he never touched. They loved like I never saw before, they cried from the heart, and they laughed with pure joy, more than I’ve ever seen him. He will miss her as far as eternity spreads. I know because he tells me.
I attract more than just the trips down the speedway. I can catch an eye or two. If I’m not runnin,’, I’m draggin’. Slow enough so the eyes can see the eyes inside. I need to make my master proud. So, I just roll down Main Street and look around until an eye catches his. And the fun begins. (Let me stop your thought process right there. My master is a “nice guy” not the creep looking to find the score. He’s out to make friends). Anyway... As she crosses the street, he wonders first, how old are you? Where do you live? Then she gets in the car, and he asks those same questions, and they are typically good enough for her to stay with him. If not, she bounces right away. All they ever do is talk and laugh and eventually trade numbers so they can go on a real date. There are times when it’s a flop, and it turns into a mess. She leaves mad. He’s mad and we end up going home. I hate that part because I get punished too, and I didn’t do anything wrong. I again sleep it off in the driveway.
I know of times when my master and I were just out by ourselves, headed nowhere, looking at the blue skies and breathing in the fresh air. And then we get interrupted by some guy who wants to talk to us. He is a rude one, mounts all these flashy obnoxious red and blue lights everywhere. But every time Master decides he too wants to talk so, he pulls over. The conversations are always quiet, so I never know what is happening but, in the end, the other guy must have given him his phone number or something. I don’t know. The funny thing is, their conversations will always ruin Master’s day. If I were him, I wouldn’t pull over anymore. Just blow on by. That’ll teach em.
I often think of some wild adventures that caused a lot of stress and anguish. One such night, late October 1986, master picked up this lovely lady, Nikki, and went for a drive. This was an unusual drive, even for me. It was late at night and the roads started to disappear. The cold settled in, and they adored the warmth of my heater. I was losing sight of the road, so I’m sure the master lost it all together. He knew what he was doing. He always did. He started to turn around and, that’s when I saw it, a riverbed. This bed was full of mud and the master drove headlong right for it. I sunk to my doors in thick mud. My headlamps went out and all that was left was the full moon to see by. They climbed out the windows and I could hear the Master cry. I knew he loved me and didn’t want me to hurt. I was touched. I heard them talking about going to get some help. That meant I had to stay alone in the lost wilderness, twelve miles from the nearest house. I hope they come back soon. Master came back the next morning, but this time he was with this older man and a sweet looking 1958 Chevy Apache. Master called the guy dad, whatever that means. This dad guy was not happy at all and raised his voice a few times at the situation. I don’t blame him; I was a bit aggravated at what Master had done to me. They tied a big rope to my axle and his axle, and he pulled me out, not without some heaving pulling, but it finally worked. I was a mess. My entire interior was red mud. Master has a lot of work to do with my bath. In the end... It took him nine days to get me back to clean again. I love my master. He’s a fool, but I do love him.
Let’s talk more fun. I spent a lot of time driving the highway from Kansas City to Overland Park in 1986 as the master was going to college. He had many friends that drove the same road with him, and they would sometimes form close groupings, door-to-door groups just so they could pass pizza and beers back and forth, all while racing along at sixty miles an hour. I was not a fan of this because there was serious danger involved. I did not want that red tomato sauce on my blue paint or interior. But, in the end, nothing bad ever happened. We all had genuine fun.
Now, let’s talk about aging. I hate this part. I’m mortal, ya know. I started getting older the day of his high school graduation in 1985. That morning on the way, somewhere? I was crossing an intersection, and a lady ran through a stop sign. She plowed right into my front end and knocked me out cold. My blood was green, and it was everywhere. The sad news was, she had no insurance and my master got stuck with the bill. I was fixed up to the best of their abilities, and I was running again. But now I’m an ugly sixteen second car. This tore us both up and we cried for days. We did not want to go out and show my face to the boys now. I was not welcomed much anymore. We all kept growing up and one day in the middle of winter in 1987, I was in a parking lot, and I hit a patch of ice and kept sliding right past a stop sign. The lady on my left hit that ice as well and plowed right into my driver’s door. This wasn’t too bad; I didn’t think, anyway. We both had insurance and again did our best to fix things up. I’m feeling really old at this point, but ya know what? My heart is still pumping really well. My master has tuned me up every three thousand miles with every oil change. I won’t leave him stranded anywhere. Well, I’m leaving town, headed for the big city of Salt Lake City. I’m grateful that my master is towing me. That would be a tough run for me. Once I’m there I’m just a daily driver, no more fun and games, just work and shopping. I hate getting old. I’m putting on a lot of miles, more than five hundred thousand. I know I’m not going to last much longer; I can feel things starting to shift in my bones. My rear end is getting loose, and my trans is slipping a bit. I’m choking up in the winter now. My master knows this and is trying his best to keep up with things, but it’s becoming too much and too expensive.
One final fun note, when my master noticed that I turned over 515K miles, he sent in a letter to General Moters with my picture (good side of course). And a few months later, we received a letter back with a photo of us hanging on their shop wall. They even gave me $50 in gas money, with a long letter of congratulations. We were so happy.
Well, today is the day. My last day that I will breathe and feel the fresh air in my grill. I will no longer wonder if the girls still smile as I hum by or envied by the guy at the stoplight (as long as he’s on my right side). I will no longer have a master to please. My transmission has finally failed, and I have been sold to the car yards. Good night. I love you, Master.
留言