RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,134
(the anthropomorphized car)
A funny image remains : The
era was Vietnam. All these guys
going warside were giving up
their cars. The GTO on blocks,
the new Chevelle locked but
in Dad's care. Most guys had
something they left behind.
'Sis can use the Mustang,
but only a little.'
-
It was different for each, of
course; each family had its
own way. Time enough it was
too, the girlfriend got the car
for keeping. Often enough
that turned to forever, if
Johnny didn't come home.
-
Just the same, the things about
cars that I can remember: The
spit and the polish of proper car
care. I'd see guys on Saturdays
preening, wiping and watching.
Chamois and Simonize. Every
inch of metal needed to glare
the eyes. Maybe it was all in
fun, but most often the talk
was nearly religious, and the
car was always 'She.' I
sometimes wondered how
any of that had come to mean
anything - those cars and
stories of the cars, the race
around the bend, or the speed
at straightaway. 'She could
do it, I knew, and we finally
made 110.' Sometimes I'd
think race-horse and 'Are
these guys kidding?' - a rolled
up sleeve and a tobacco-pack
too. How fast was logic, I'd
wonder, and does these guys
ever hit Mach 1? I knew the
feeling a little, with my beat-up
heaps; the occasional sufferance
to speed or feat. I myself had
rounded a bend near 90, in my
fat, old Jaguar, to crack one
hundred when the straightaway
came. I guessed it was all the
same, though I knew, at the
same time too, I was outrunning
my brakes and just asking for
trouble. As in, 'She's a wizened
old hag, and soon set to blow.'
Different strokes for different
folks, as Sly Stone, or was it
someone else, let me in on
knowing. Everyday people,
you know? Still, I never
clutched a car to my heart
like these guys did. I'd seen
enough of the heartache and
the disappointment that can
bring: the dead car at the
side of the road, or the front
end of the same, smacked
into the ditch and the rear
wheels up and spinning but
on no ground. There's too
much real heartache when
the lovely 'she' car finally
breaks down or hangs
helpless like that. Better
just to keep away from all
those tendencies. I knew a
guy once, in Cranford - he
lived in some apartments
that hugged the Garden State
Parkway there. I used to think
they were pretty fancy, kind
of British looking, in an old
red brick and Tudor way -
last I saw they looked old
and ragged and ordinary -
and he had this weird,
stupid theory about his car;
some fancy Triumph or
some other. His peculiar
form of equivalency was
to allocate to the car and
its care exactly half the
time's duration of running
to do preventive and any
maintenance-care. But he
had it all twisted into some
odd, almost religious, duty.
So, for instance, if he was
out for 4 hours, driving, he'd
give the car 2 hours car-time
afterwards. He said anyway.
That was a peculiar version,
I always thought, of what I
called anthropomorphizing a
vehicle. Tending to it as if it
was conscious and cared; as
if it noted these things and
took umbrage at a slight; as
if a missed-allotment of
equalized car-care by half
would be taken as an offense
and cause 'problems' to ensue.
The guy was obviously mad;
engrossed in some weird
fantasy of projected illogic.
What always got me the
most, the craziest, was that
he had tons of money, so
none of that really mattered
and the car-care or repair
could have come easy and
be paid for. But, even more
astounding, was the fact that
this guy (he was about 5 years
older than me, and a different
'class' for sure) had a luscious,
beautiful, girlfriend who was
like sunlight and happiness,
always. I'd think, 'Man, extend
that care-time to her instead,
you blazing fool!' Some guys,
indeed!
-
I watched all this, stupidly;
needless to say. My own
stupidity has always taken
the form of a passive removal.
Taking a few steps back to
stay out of the breach. I'd
observe, but let others do
the fighting or weave the
charm. It was just my way.
Not so much any more, but
now it little matters - all
those days are long-gone
and I've lost the thread that
connects me to things; 'inside
the museum, infinity goes up
on trial...voices echo, 'this is
what Salvation must be like
after a while...' A whole life
like that makes things odd
and curious, and I guess I
just never stopped noticing.
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