Trudy Belle
We bought her nearly a decade ago. She was just over a year old. By far the prettiest car that I'd ever owned. She was a cloudy blue Mazda.
We've had two cars for as long as I can remember. Our good car (T's) and our second car. Mine. I didn't mind. I was just excited because she had electric windows and locks. I've never been a car person in that I had to have a new car. I just wanted one that ran well and wasn't a bitch about it. I've always named my cars. When I was in high school, I had our old hired hand's car. It was my first car. I have no idea what kind of car it was except that it was big and blue. I named it Harry, after the hired man. After that, I had a series of cars that I don't remember much about except that I named them all.
Trudy Belle was different. She and I got along right from the start. She was easy on the eyes, easy to work and okay...she wasn't the smoothest ride, but she got me where I wanted to go every day, no matter the weather. She started on days when it was 20 below zero. Her defroster ran like a work horse, fast and efficient. She had seats that warmed in the Winter and cooled in the Summer. She had a cd holder and we listened to books, never the radio. She and I listened to every single one of the Harry Potter books with Lucy. We had a rule that every December, we only listened to Christmas music, beginning and ending with A Jimmy Dean Christmas, one of my Father's favorites. I thought of him each time I heard "The Cowboy's Prayer" or.....my favorite: "Jingle Bells." Lucy and I would sing along at the top of our lungs as I drove her to school every day and brought her home. I listened to every single one of Elizabeth Berg's books. I listened to Tending to Virginia by Jill McCorkle and cried so hard over pecan trees that I had to pull into a Taco Bell lot one day in October as I drove home from work.
Nothing ever went wrong with Trudy Belle. She just worked. She listened as I pulled into the Towl Park parking lot when I found out that I had cancer for the first time and screamed and screamed and screamed until my throat was raw. She took me on long rides after tedious fights with T that I can't even remember now, except that she was driving me crazy and all I wanted was to be away from her for an hour. She drove me to several of Lucy's softball, basketball, and swim meets, her passenger seat wet from Lucy's swim suit afterwards as we drove through Dairy Queen for a cone with sprinkles. Trudy Belle was my partner in crime when I drove through red lights when no one looking or that time when I drove 90 miles per hour on the highway just because I had never done so and wanted to say I had done it once before I died.
The years went by and T went through 3 new cars. She asked me if I felt like replacing Trudy Belle. I would shake my head no. Why in the world would I replace her? She never failed me. She was my confidante.
My closer friends and family will tell you that I am sentimental, probably too much so at times. I form attachments to characters from movies and books. I hug trees. Talk to all of my plants and many that I have just met. While I am not a particularly gregarious person in public, I am loyal to those whom I love. I have been known to carry books around in my purse long after they have been read simply because I can't bear to let them go. I once saw Nikolaj Coster-Waldau in an airport and started quietly weeping because....hey....that was JAIME LANNISTER, dudes. Certain songs bring me to tears every. single. time. that I hear them. Ventura Highway. Old Shep. Long Ago and Far Away.
Probably my Irish heritage.
So, when Trudy Belle started showing her age, you can only imagine my conundrum. I loved Trudy. I was astonished when she began to show wear and tear. We had taken good care of her. Had seen that she had regular maintenance. First, she began to refuse to start if she sat for more than 48 hours. We got a new battery for her. Four times. Still....she refused to start if not started in 48 hours. We took her to a mechanic. He could find nothing wrong, except for the fact that she began to have problems with what we dubbed the dancing emojis. While driving her, I began to notice that those little emojis that appear on the dashboard of a car would begin to shine. The engine light came on. We had it checked. Nothing was wrong. The low tire pressure lights came on. Tires were fine. The seat belt warning light came on. All seat belts on. Those squiggly lines indicating slippery road conditions came on and off constantly. We had everything checked. We were told that everything was fine but that if we wanted to get to the root of the problem, we could have the dashboard torn apart at the cost of a few thousand dollars. It hardly seemed worth it when nothing was wrong.
So, I just chalked it up to old age eccentricity. Hey, we all develop quirks in our older age and these were Trudy Belles. So be it. But, then....the airport problem happened. We were all set to leave on a ten day vacation and T's new car wouldn't start. So, we had to take Trudy Belle, knowing that this meant that she wouldn't start in the airport lot when we got back since we would be gone more than 48 hours. We had no choice. We took her. She didn't start.
I have cancer. I am pretty weak. Sitting in a steaming hot airport lot waiting for airport security to come jump Trudy Belle was hard on me.
Last night, T asked me if I wanted to go for a drive to check out new cars. She gently told me that it was time to replace Trudy Belle. T would be going back to teach school in a few weeks and I would be responsible for transporting myself to my various doctor appointments and labs. She wanted me to have a reliable car. She made the pot sweeter. She took me to a Volkswagen dealer, knowing my secret love of volkswagen beetles.
And there she was. A cherry red beetle. Less than a year old. Less than ten thousand miles on her. I gingerly walked around her, running my finger over her brightness. We got in and took a ride.
Smooth as silk. I sighed thinking of how bumpy Trudy Belle was. How hard it was on my aching, chemo soaked bones.
We told the dealer that we would think on it. When we arrived home, I slunk past Trudy Belle like a teenager late for curfew. I swear that I felt her sigh.
I walked into the house and then sat outside while T mowed the lawn. I thought of Cherry's sweet red and black interior. Her smooth turns. Her small, neat inside.
I sat with my head down for a long, long time.
We've had two cars for as long as I can remember. Our good car (T's) and our second car. Mine. I didn't mind. I was just excited because she had electric windows and locks. I've never been a car person in that I had to have a new car. I just wanted one that ran well and wasn't a bitch about it. I've always named my cars. When I was in high school, I had our old hired hand's car. It was my first car. I have no idea what kind of car it was except that it was big and blue. I named it Harry, after the hired man. After that, I had a series of cars that I don't remember much about except that I named them all.
Trudy Belle was different. She and I got along right from the start. She was easy on the eyes, easy to work and okay...she wasn't the smoothest ride, but she got me where I wanted to go every day, no matter the weather. She started on days when it was 20 below zero. Her defroster ran like a work horse, fast and efficient. She had seats that warmed in the Winter and cooled in the Summer. She had a cd holder and we listened to books, never the radio. She and I listened to every single one of the Harry Potter books with Lucy. We had a rule that every December, we only listened to Christmas music, beginning and ending with A Jimmy Dean Christmas, one of my Father's favorites. I thought of him each time I heard "The Cowboy's Prayer" or.....my favorite: "Jingle Bells." Lucy and I would sing along at the top of our lungs as I drove her to school every day and brought her home. I listened to every single one of Elizabeth Berg's books. I listened to Tending to Virginia by Jill McCorkle and cried so hard over pecan trees that I had to pull into a Taco Bell lot one day in October as I drove home from work.
Nothing ever went wrong with Trudy Belle. She just worked. She listened as I pulled into the Towl Park parking lot when I found out that I had cancer for the first time and screamed and screamed and screamed until my throat was raw. She took me on long rides after tedious fights with T that I can't even remember now, except that she was driving me crazy and all I wanted was to be away from her for an hour. She drove me to several of Lucy's softball, basketball, and swim meets, her passenger seat wet from Lucy's swim suit afterwards as we drove through Dairy Queen for a cone with sprinkles. Trudy Belle was my partner in crime when I drove through red lights when no one looking or that time when I drove 90 miles per hour on the highway just because I had never done so and wanted to say I had done it once before I died.
The years went by and T went through 3 new cars. She asked me if I felt like replacing Trudy Belle. I would shake my head no. Why in the world would I replace her? She never failed me. She was my confidante.
My closer friends and family will tell you that I am sentimental, probably too much so at times. I form attachments to characters from movies and books. I hug trees. Talk to all of my plants and many that I have just met. While I am not a particularly gregarious person in public, I am loyal to those whom I love. I have been known to carry books around in my purse long after they have been read simply because I can't bear to let them go. I once saw Nikolaj Coster-Waldau in an airport and started quietly weeping because....hey....that was JAIME LANNISTER, dudes. Certain songs bring me to tears every. single. time. that I hear them. Ventura Highway. Old Shep. Long Ago and Far Away.
Probably my Irish heritage.
So, when Trudy Belle started showing her age, you can only imagine my conundrum. I loved Trudy. I was astonished when she began to show wear and tear. We had taken good care of her. Had seen that she had regular maintenance. First, she began to refuse to start if she sat for more than 48 hours. We got a new battery for her. Four times. Still....she refused to start if not started in 48 hours. We took her to a mechanic. He could find nothing wrong, except for the fact that she began to have problems with what we dubbed the dancing emojis. While driving her, I began to notice that those little emojis that appear on the dashboard of a car would begin to shine. The engine light came on. We had it checked. Nothing was wrong. The low tire pressure lights came on. Tires were fine. The seat belt warning light came on. All seat belts on. Those squiggly lines indicating slippery road conditions came on and off constantly. We had everything checked. We were told that everything was fine but that if we wanted to get to the root of the problem, we could have the dashboard torn apart at the cost of a few thousand dollars. It hardly seemed worth it when nothing was wrong.
So, I just chalked it up to old age eccentricity. Hey, we all develop quirks in our older age and these were Trudy Belles. So be it. But, then....the airport problem happened. We were all set to leave on a ten day vacation and T's new car wouldn't start. So, we had to take Trudy Belle, knowing that this meant that she wouldn't start in the airport lot when we got back since we would be gone more than 48 hours. We had no choice. We took her. She didn't start.
I have cancer. I am pretty weak. Sitting in a steaming hot airport lot waiting for airport security to come jump Trudy Belle was hard on me.
Last night, T asked me if I wanted to go for a drive to check out new cars. She gently told me that it was time to replace Trudy Belle. T would be going back to teach school in a few weeks and I would be responsible for transporting myself to my various doctor appointments and labs. She wanted me to have a reliable car. She made the pot sweeter. She took me to a Volkswagen dealer, knowing my secret love of volkswagen beetles.
And there she was. A cherry red beetle. Less than a year old. Less than ten thousand miles on her. I gingerly walked around her, running my finger over her brightness. We got in and took a ride.
Smooth as silk. I sighed thinking of how bumpy Trudy Belle was. How hard it was on my aching, chemo soaked bones.
We told the dealer that we would think on it. When we arrived home, I slunk past Trudy Belle like a teenager late for curfew. I swear that I felt her sigh.
I walked into the house and then sat outside while T mowed the lawn. I thought of Cherry's sweet red and black interior. Her smooth turns. Her small, neat inside.
I sat with my head down for a long, long time.
Comments
Post a Comment