viragette

On a Saturday three weeks ago it rained steadily all day, and I took out my car for the first time since November. It was a lovely day. We (the car and I) ran a couple of errands, I drove her to capoeira and then to a show. It turned out that I didn’t like the band, and I left early. I took a spin down MLK, then headed west, feeling restless. It was still raining, and it was so nice to drive her. I drove for almost an hour. When I was finally tired, the car was still running beautifully, and I decided to head home on the highway.

Her dash lights all work, which is something of a miracle considering the car is older than me, but they’re very faint. It’s evidently a characteristic of this particular type of car. I’m not sure if I saw them flicker. The engine noise when she is at speed is quite a bit more than in modern cars. I’m not sure if I heard something. If I did, it was subtle. Maybe I felt something. A hesitation? I could not say what was wrong, but she had my complete attention.

About 15 seconds later she started to falter. She seemed to be losing power, although it was hard to tell as I had immediately eased off the accelerator. I had already checked all the gauges, and knew that everything was normal. I checked them all again as I merged right and took the next exit. She glided gracefully to a stop at the crest of the small hill, and went completely dead at the light there. Completely dead. Electrically unresponsive.

I have AAA, a cell phone, the whole 9 yards. And I’d left them all at home. I did have my flares, but just wasn’t feeling that melodramatic. It was almost 2:00 AM, and I was at a well-lit but somewhat remote highway exit across the street from one of the tougher neighborhoods in town. I zipped up my coat, put on my hat, popped the hood and checked the battery connections. They were fine, and the starter did not so much as click. The car has glass fuses, and I have a few spare in a little mint tin in the ash tray. I checked the glass fuses, first that they were in place, then tried to check that they weren’t blown. I was getting nowhere fast. One of the dash lights eventually re-lit, then the overhead light. But I could get nothing from the ignition.

This was the first time I’d ever driven her in a steady rain and she’d been out almost all day. Something was wet. I couldn’t drive my car because I got it wet.

This is sort of what you get when you drive an old car. I made the choice to drive this car, and I try to do so in a responsible and intelligent manner but I just wasn’t prepared on this outing. Even when I am completely prepared, she’s an old car and she was stored, until recently, for more than 15 years. Stuff like this is going to happen. And so as I stood there contemplating what I might do mechanically, I was also sort of chuckling to myself about the fine mess I was in. Ce la vie. I figured we’d get home one way or another.

Someone stopped to ask if I needed help. I asked them to please call the highway patrol for me. The highway patrol can call AAA. A trooper rolled up about 10 minutes later. We put the car in neutral and he pushed me, bumper to bumper, across the intersection to a gas station. His dispatcher would not call AAA without my membership number, so I asked instead for the 1-800 number, and told them I’d call myself from inside the station.

And that’s how I met Ali. Ali let me use his cell phone, for like almost an hour. He passed it to me under his bulletproof cage through the little slot where the money goes. He’s the clerk who works the night shift there, and I spent the next two hours at that little mini-mart with him. With him and the beautiful young lady who came to visit with him between 2:15 and 2:45. She suggested maybe it was my alternator (joking about the rain aside, she’s probably right). And the homeless veteran who tidies up and who I probably gave too much money to when he asked. And the 50 patrons who came in to buy gum and pop and gas between 1:50 and 3:00 AM. The guy who I bought $2 worth of gas for and wouldn’t just take the money from me himself, and then gave me his bottle of STP gas treatment as a repayment, and blessed me with 10 times the help I gave him. I told him Ali already had me covered on that score. The 6′5″ guy with the wet curls in a big orange jersey and matching pants who knew all about my car, knew all about the make and model and stood there in the rain, just saying “Damn that’s fine, I wish my son could see that car.” He told me they paint model cars together, he and his son, and they have a model of my car.

By the time the tow truck driver arrived, I was almost sad to go. It was after 4 AM and I was tired, and I had long since begun to feel like a very lucky girl. Lucky to have had a wonderful evening, totally safe, warm and dry in good company. Just lucky.

The tow truck driver was laconic in the extreme and his girlfriend was in the front seat. It was still raining, and he had to get down on his hands and knees to secure the iron hooks to the undercarriage. In a puddle, at that gas station. I felt bad about that, and for making them come out so late in the rain because I got my car wet and couldn’t drive it, and when I climbed up into the cab next to his lady I started to sing for my supper. I put on a good show. I had them laughing and smiling as I told them stories. Marsha has a gold tooth and she wants to be a forensic scientist. She’s got a beautiful voice, and her man doesn’t hardly say a word, but he laughed just like everyone else does during that one part in the story of how my car saved the life of the last man who owned her. I even caught him smiling sweetly to himself at the best part. And even though he didn’t have to, he helped me push her into her spot. By the time we got to my house, Marsha had given me her phone number. We’re gonna go out. As long as it isn’t raining.