Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Did I ever mention why I wanted to drive a pick-up truck?


When I coasted to a stop at the top of a ramp in my 80-something Tercel and it stalled and never restarted, I sang a favorite song to myself …I think I'll pack it in and buy a pick-up…(thank you Mr Young).


I was in Long Island wearing really saggy sweats. They sort of swayed and hung in tired waves as I walked around the car.


I was 18 or 19 and a teenager in America, where personal independence feels like a steering wheel and life zips by at 60 miles per hour through the wiper's smudged path in the windshield. I was going for it. I had gas and a radio. I just had not considered bad luck.


For a long time the specter of bad luck did not occur to me. My life was still a wish list to Santa and I was a believer. That rotten Tercel had a hole in the gas tank and the gauge didn't work. i would put in $5 at a time and in grease pencil I recorded my mileage on the rearview mirror. I would come up short sometimes so I kept a few gallons of emergency gas in a red jug in the back. Or, I would overpour and watch gas splash across the station. I am sure I could be arrested and killed for any of these stupidities now.


But I was excited by life. I daydreamed. I sang along. Now, I am a sour, morose jerk and I don't even have a radio. Anywhere.


Today the dogs and I got out twice to lope through blowing leaves that caught Lily's eye. She ran in circles and tonight as she tucks her nose under her tail to sleep, we wait for snow.



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