The Turquoise Pen

My Car

Noël R. King

One morning last week, I heard my car talking to my neighbor’s car, where they sat beside each other at the yard’s edge. As I had not known my car could either think or talk, I paused unnoticed behind a large bush.

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” my old white car was pontificating, “I have more than a few good miles left in me, and I’ll be swishjiggled if I stop one foot short of where the Good Lord says, ‘Stop, Car.’”

“I know!” cried my neighbor’s little blue truck, also dented, rusted, and with its own share of nicks and metal bruises. “It burns me up, my old lady talking junk this, trade that. I get so mad, it makes me vomit oil!”

I stayed behind the bush, transfixed by this unexpected opportunity to hear my car speak from the heart.

“She doesn’t trust me anymore, is the problem,” it was bemoaning when I tuned back in. “She thinks I’m gonna just fall apart now. It wasn’t my fault that muffler fell off last week—the stupid mechanic forgot the clamps.”

“She does check your oil a lot,” the light blue truck agreed. “I’d say, just be glad she cares!”

“I guess so,” my white car admitted, grudgingly. “But she thinks I’m dumb, and I’m not. I’m smart! I know three languages!”

“You do?” whistled the little blue truck. “Really?”

“Yup,” said my car. “Made in Japan. First language. Six months in a German warehouse, second language. Then Baltimore in ‘91 to my first lady, American English. This here’s my second lady, starting from February ‘98. I wish you coulda seen me when I was still new. I smelled and looked so great!

“You’re still pretty classy,” said the light blue truck. “I have always admired you. I have especially envied your four doors all these years. So roomy and accessible!”

“Ha,” said my car. “Sore and rheumy’s more like it; going on 19 years, these hinges. Throw me into a tub of WD-40 for a week—that’d get my hubcaps spinning again!”

“A car spa! Ha ha ha!” Light Blue Truck laughed, which kind of hurt my ears because it was so rusty sounding. “Hey, but isn’t it about time for her to come out and start you up? We better shut up. Have a great day!”

“You too,” said my white car. “Time to get to work! Watch out for those potholes down by the store. Word on the street says they took one of Marvin Mazda’s tires yesterday.”

I came around the bush a few moments later and said, “Good morning, Cars! How are you today?”

I detected no response from either of them, just like any other morning, although my car easily avoided all potholes on the way to work. I tried to find a Japanese station on the satellite radio to entertain it while we were driving back home that evening but was not successful.

Then, yesterday, when I came out in the morning, the frost on my car’s windshield could have been taken to spell out the word “Hi” if you had looked at it with some imagination.

“Well, hello to you, too, Car!” I said, but I didn’t receive any audible response. I guess my car is still one of few spoken words around the human element.

I opened the hood to check the oil. It is crucial to check that oil! As I reached for the dipstick, I saw a hose that had shifted to one side, and I took my baby in to get it all checked out.

“This hose is about to bust,” said the mechanic. “It gave you good warning.”

“I know,” I said. “My car may not be fresh off the line, but it sure is smart.”

—As circumstances warrant, through her Turquoise Pen column Noël R. King, Scottsville, Virginia, reports on strange and wonderful or worrisome things, including smart cars.