I have a 2004 Toyota Corolla LE called Stevie. She’s a reliable old friend that I bought used from a reputable used car salesman who sends me a Christmas card every year. She’s paid off, has leaked since I bought her four years ago-ish, and has accrued nearly 180,000 miles in her 20 years on the road. There were no floormats, so I embellished my floorboard with the Camry-embroidered mats in my former car, wrecked from a stupid accident the moment I moved into the small country town I still live in, but still wonder why I do.
I named her Stevie because the two key tags differed. One said, “Green.” One said, “Silver.” And she is a little iridescent, especially in the sunlight. “You could be my silver springs, my blue-green colors flashing.” That’s the most succinct I’ve ever told that story. (Maybe) I should write more. Were it not for crippling anxiety, ADHD, depression, and being completely OUT OF THE HABIT of it, I would. I will. Look, I am!
Back to Stevie. I’ve always loved Fleetwood Mac. I don’t always listen to them, but when I do, I sink in. Weirdly, my favorite track is that one that goes, “Thunder only happens when it’s raining…” the audiophile in me will look that up semi-immediately and report back. I can already feel tension inside me not knowing the title, but I also am listening to some groovy new(er) music on Spotify, so bear with me. I’m not doing the Fleetwood Mac vibe right now…It’s called “Dreams.” “But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness.” Sigh.
So, along we ride. And we have seen a lot in four years. The cracks have gotten deeper. The rain really comes in when it pours. Once, it rained so hard that my seat was wet. And then my ass got wet. This happened to me on the way to work. Looked like I pissed myself. That seems like such a long time ago. And I’ve only just been unemployed since Monday.
Fleetwood Mac (of course, I’m listening to “Dreams,” now. Did you think I’d be doing anything other?) has a hangup with the weather, and so does Adam Duritz, from Counting Crows. And I love them both. I used to take long walks in the pouring rain. It never fazed me. I kinda liked it. Mom would come pick me up and I’d wave her on. “Nah, I’m good,” I used to say. “I’m sure.” And on I’d go with my hippie-ass self, communing with nature while the neighbors probably wondered why I was so weird.
But back to Stevie. I noticed, a few months ago, that I had a mouse in my car. I never saw him/her. Bit by bit, there were shredded glovebox napkins. One day, I’d pulled up into the parking lot of a shopping center and parked. As soon as I killed the engine, a tiny brown field mouse popped up where my windshield met the hood. As soon as he appeared, he disappeared. The quick lube station, months later, showed me the mountain of shredded napkins on my cabin filter. I made a deal with the mouse. “Just don’t shred any wires.”
I know I have to remedy the mouse-in-the-room situation, but I just can’t bring myself to kill it. I have no guaranteed income, and a huge car agenda at the mechanic in a week. This is what happens when you live in the country, are vastly un(der)mployed, drive a “classic” car, and life, in general, sucks for you right now.
Still. Stevie and I cruise along the curvy country roads, thinking far too hard and fast for any normal human being, about what happened, what could happen, what is, what could be, what isn’t…and what we want.
Hold on. The Kia dealer is calling me again. One stupid inquiry, and now my text, voicemail, and email are crammed with a desperate, corporate salesperson, falsely thinking that I could afford a new Kia. I smile at Stevie and start the engine. We’ll get the seatbelt and door lock fixed. Don’t worry. I just need you to pass inspection. Please.
unsung throes 