As We Once Were

As We Once Were

I am a married man and I am having an affair with my car. Before
getting to the tawdry details, I need to provide background
on my mistress. She's a lovely 1988 Alpine White BMW four door
sedan. I bought her five years ago and she has affected my life and my
marriage.

Quite simply, there's no loss of love between my wife and my
car. My wife feels I deserve better, something newer, something
less "high maintenance", something capable of operating as many as 20
out of 30 days a month. My car possesses no love for my wife because
she, my car, knows that she, my wife, is unable or unwilling to see her,
my car, in the glory days, when she was new, tight and lovely, fresh
from the factory in Bavaria. I am simply caught between these two
women, my wife concerned for my safety and my car, having stolen my
heart.

Let me say at the outset that I am not now nor have I ever been a
"car nut". I regard most cars as a merely a means transport, however, my
darling BMW is simply not most cars.

I think that if my car were a person, she would be an old,
beautiful, voluptuous, divorced woman. The loose, worn
drivers seat and sagging suspension suggest that I am but another in a
long line of lovers. I am sure that at times the line was long but these
days I fear, I may be the last.

As foolish as it sounds, it was love at first drive. In the beginning
she was a mystery, a new girlfriend, a wrapped present waiting
under the tree for me to but discover her. I learned where she likes to be
tickled, when to rev engine and when to let it idle. She was full
of surprises too. The first time I pushed the speedometer past 90, she
was transformed. No flags of truce, no cries for pity, on an on we rode
that night, an orgy of speed, grace and power.

And then came the fall; the first night when she turned away her
face and left me alone, stranded in the rain. My wife came, then
the tow truck came, and when we awoke the next morning, it was my
wife who drew first blood.

"Maybe you should think about getting something more reliable", she
said.

I'd had the same thought but dared not give those words breath. I
covered my shame and made excuses for her. "Well honey", I begin,
"she's an old car, old cars have problems, its probably something
simple".

I lied. I had no clue. I was ignorant of the ways of The Hun.
Each of my attempts to fix my love, to heal my love, to please my love
made her pain worse while the illness of age continued to progress
unchecked.

"The Strandings" continued and my wife went on the offensive. She began
telling me about her friends, and her friend's new mini-vans and how
the kids would enjoy the mini-van and how the kids can
watch movies on long trips and how we can blah blah blah with the mini
van and how the blah blah blah with the blah blah blah in the mini van
and the blah blah blah, blah blah blah, blah blah blah MINI VAN!

Her twisted scheme had me selling my car, me getting her VOLVO (yawn)
and her driving the mini van. This was simply unthinkable.

I told her one day that you don't ask Ben to leave Jerry, Ben's Ice Cream
would never be the same. Or, think of Penn and Teller witout the loud
mouthed one, the little guy would just stand there and make those silly
faces, bigtime sucko. No, my car and I are a team, perhaps not Ginger
Rodgers and Fred Astair, perhaps maybe more like Colonel Klink and
Sargent Schultz, but a team in spite of our shortcomings.

Last year I got smart. A friend of a friend introduced me to a roaming
band of Gypsies that came to town 20 years ago and just happened to
still be around. Tschaba has some relationship to the gypsies
and is widly purported to possess magical powers. He has given renewed life
to my deathly ill mistress and for this act alone I've no doubt he's earned an
eternal reward from the gods.

My car is healthy, I am happy and my wife, "blah blah blah
MINI VAN !"

At some point my car will lose out to something else and my wife will
get her way. But, until then, I will continue to drive her and she
will be driven because this is the nature of our relationship. I am
older and no longer need the nightly thrill, or at least not as
often. We both age. I'll keep her close and we'll age together and
I will maintain a hope that on some late night run, when the
expressway is smooth and dry, the years will wash away and we both can
pretend, that we are together again, as we once were.