Lonely times for a red car

By Alan Linda | The Daily Journal

Published Tuesday, August 21, 2007

(This column — or one a lot like it, anyway — was run years ago when 18 went off to college. It’s dedicated to all parents who just had a child go off to college. I remember going on a service call shortly after 18 went off; this parent had also just sent her 18-year-old off to school, too. She would say something like: “If only she were here, we could…..” Then I’d say: “Yes, she’s going to miss…” We were both abjectly miserable, and found no comfort at all in each other’s misery, not even a little.)

There’s a lonely little red car sitting in our driveway this early fall morning. The dew that condenses and runs down the front of its headlights leaves a trail behind it, much the same as tears might.

It’s crying this morning because we took 18 off to college yesterday, where cars aren’t really wanted, and because 16, the heir apparent, doesn’t love anything with a stick shift.

I never thought I’d see the day when I’d mourn a car sitting idle on a driveway where the dust hadn’t completely settled in two years, but I was. After 18 got her license, home became a pit stop, and we kind of became her pit crew.

Leaving 18 at school provided me with some images that linger. One was seeing three sisters locked together in a group hug for the first time. The last time they were that close, they were fighting over a blouse that each of them desperately wanted.

Or, they fought over the telephone. Or someone’s favorite socks. They actually got close to one another many times, now that I think back on it. These moments of closeness were accompanied by appropriate language, such as:

“You give that back to me, you twerp!”

“No way, Hozay!”

“Way! Way! Way!”

“Who died and made you queen for a day, huh?”

And so forth. I had suspected all along that they actually liked each other, but the real image of them walking back from the dorm, arms around one another—well, that helped.

14 and 16 are taking their sister’s absence remarkably well. Let’s listen in on them:

“16: “You sneak! What were you doing in 18’s room, huh?”

14: “Nothing! What were you doing outside her door?”

16: “Checking to make sure you didn’t take...YOU DID! YOU DID! I GET THAT! SHE SAID I COULD HAVE THAT!”

14: “PROVE IT. TRY!”

Ah yes, it’s been said before, but I’ll say it again. Today’s teenagers adjust to change quickly.

I went outside to see Red Beretta, the abandoned auto.

Well, I said to Red: Red, you look as lonely as I feel, with 18 gone.

Red didn’t move, just said: “Trade me. I can still play the game.”

What do you mean, trade you?

“This team sure doesn’t need me. Look, this is a simple game. She clutches, she shifts, you put gas in me, I get her back home safely.” I could swear I heard a muffled sob when he said “home.”

16 will learn to love you, you’ll see.

“No she won’t. She hates me. She thinks my clutch pedal is the brake half the time. The other half of the time, she slips the clutch and makes my insides hurt. This is a sport, with precise skills. 18 could synchronize a shift with the best of them. You should know. You taught her. You could drive me, but all you do is work…”

OK, OK, I get the point, but she’ll be back in a few weeks, and she…

Red sputtered out a couple half-hearted ticks and said, “Uh, uh. You bench me and I’ll rust up so fast I swear you’ll hear fenders falling off me in the middle of the night.”

So where do you want to go?

Red snorted and said, “That’s easy. I’ve never been to college before. 18 and me’re a team.” He shifted gears kind of, and said, in a sadder, quieter voice, “I know you miss her too. Those tears you thought you saw earlier, they weren’t mine. Cars can’t cry.” He coughed, went on: “How about we do the best we can for a little while, and see what happens. I guess we’re all a team, kind of.”

That sounds pretty sensible.

“One other thing,” Red said, “I feel empty.”

Hey, I’ll get some gasoline…

“Not that kind of empty, you know?”

Yeah. I know.

Alan Linda’s column runs Tuesday.