It was an average day after school. Classes ere boring during school, so I needed something, anything to excite me. A certain aroma of newly blossomed flowers is in the air. The trees were spreading there joy all over the many yards. The birds were singing. The dogs were barking. The neighborhood kids were all participating in a game of Frisbee. An old lady sat on her porch an drank tea, while she watched her husband and grandson play checkers. Then it appeared as if the wind began to blow. Time seem to be of no essence. As the evening sun rays bounced off of the pavement, she appeared. One could hardly see her. As she got closer, my heart began to pound, beating faster and faster with anticipation. Shocking as it may seem, she entered my yard.
She was covered in gold. The gold was glowing as the sun’s ray’s reflected off of her. All eyes were on her. She didn’t have to do nothing. Her looks said it all. I wanted her. In time I would have her. I touched her gently. Then I began to run my ands all over her. Her surface was as smooth as silk. She was kind of warm. I couldn’t resist the temptation. I jumped right in, head first, not caring who were watching. I was all smiles. She smelled so good. I asked my mom for her name. She said Betsy. I looked at my mom curiously and replied, "Wasn’t that the name of our old car."
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We jumped in as if there were no tomorrow. I guess I know how to push the right buttons, because she began to sing to me, clearly with a wonderful pitch. She did whatever I wanted her to do. The car drove so quietly. As far as I was concerned, people were all lined up along the road as if we were in a parade. Betsy was more than a car, she was a work of art, crafted with precision the first cars owner must have treated her like a queen She was clean and sweet. She now belonged to me and I guess the rest of my family.
It wouldn’t be too long before our relationship would stand the test of time. I received my first freedom with her as a teenager. It was she that performed so well as I got my license. She was the orchestra and I was the leader. At times, Betsy was stubborn. She just wouldn’t perform up to par.
Now look at her, father time has taken it’s toll on her. The car is a dinosaur compared to the younger, swifter cars. The car’s graceful motion has been replaced by a limp. Her smooth, silky, golden surface has had its share of knocks and bruises. A band-aid couldn’t cure but only treat the various ailments. The quiet sound she made as she passed by others of her kind is now a roar of anger. It sounds like she has a cold, along with sinus congestion. Betsy no longer smells like fragrance of poupouri but instead smell like grease from body shops. There use to be a time when it didn’t cost very much to satisfy her thirst but now she behaves like an alcoholic. She insist of having the finest and most expensive beverage offered. If not, she doesn’t feel so good.
As I look at her, I have mixed feelings. On one hand, she was my ticket to all of the nearby activities. On the other have, I had my first encounter with the law.
At least I don’t have to share her with anyone else. She’s all mine. Who was it that said "never judge a book by its cover" or "it’s not what’s on the outside but what’s on the inside?" Whoever said these things doesn’t have to see a dinosaur parked next to a new specie. There was once a time when people thought New Yorker was inscribed on the car because it was from New York. May be it’s time to retire here. If I traded her in, I may get seven hundred dollars. I don’t think I will. Nowadays, they give Betsy and others a face lift that would remind you of yesterday. May be that’s what I’ll do.
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