Ok, not really… I actually called her Bruce.
The first car that I owned my parents bought for me when I was away at Summer Camp (Camp Wakonda) when I was 15. I didn’t even have my license yet. It was a 1984 Rabbit, tan, automatic, with a bitchin’ AM/FM radio in it. I think they paid $300.00 for it.
The felt ceiling has lost it’s glue, so it fell like a billowy canopy around my head. When I drove the car it looked like I was wearing a giant turban. It did awesome things to my hair. Nowadays I could drive it with nary a hair complaint due to the extreme “aerodynamics” of my head, but back then I had tons of curly hair that got all messed up.
I replaced the radio with one that actually played tapes, and installed new speakers in the rear. The speakers that I installed were wooden shelf speakers, about a foot tall. I placed them ever so lovingly in the rear window to rock out to The Rocky Horror Picture Show or some showtunes or Abba. I used to love to drive the car at night, with no destination, just to listen to the music and be alone. It was the first time I was ever truly alone.
Of course, if I drove it for more that 20 minutes and stopped for gas or at a convenience store and turned the car off I would have to wait for it to completely cool down before it would start again, but that didn’t matter. I loved that little car.
Well, yesterday I was driving home from work and I saw my little car on the road still. There was a young guy driving it, and it was like looking in a mirror. …an old mirror that shows me like I was twenty years ago.
I think I’ll dig out my old mix tapes this weekend. There’s probably a good song or two I’ve forgotten.