Screeeech...

February 19, 2002

Bessie was my first car. I got the name from a Doctor Who episode. It was a '83 white Toyota hatchback. And I put that car through a lot of abuse.

I remember that I got very acquainted with the Top Ten songs, like Jesus Jones "Right Here, Right Now" or Paula Abdul's whatever-was-the-hit-of-the-time simply because Bessie only had an AM radio, and I didn't understand Spanish. Sometimes I took with me my dad's old tape player from the 60s and played music on that tiny tinny speaker.

Everyone needs a car in Southern California. I needed it to drive the three blocks to my high school, even though it took five minutes longer than by bike. But seriously folks, when you are sixteen, it represented freedom. I'm sure you all know that.

Of course, I really didn't have anyplace to go. Sometimes I drove up to meet my friend J.T. up in Chino Hills. Screaming at 60mph in pitch dark canyon roads and hairpin turns. It took half an hour to get there, and it was fun every second.

I remember one night where Ritchie, Logan, and I were headed to J.T.'s house, and I didn't realize the last hairpin turn was under construction. Logan was such a big guy that he caused Bessie to tilt at a 30 degree angle to the passenger side. So when we hit that turn at 45mph while braking, we skidded three or four lanes over. One or two more, and we would have been at the bottom of the cliff.

I replaced the battery three times. I replaced each tire twice. And I managed to shatter the rear window with a Lego. Don't ask me how to explain that one.

Bessie died an ignoble death. One December day in 1991, I took her to meet my then girlfriend. When in Ventura, smoke started to pour out of the hood, and I lost all power. While my car began to glide and decelerate, I noticed that the heat gauge was maxed out. We coasted off the freeway, then slid to a stop under an overpass.

Evidently, the radiator was holey, and I had never poured any water, or radiator fluid in there since owning the car. I had assumed my dad would do all the maintenance. So I had melted everything that was made of plastic, the head gasket, the spark plugs, etc.

It took three different mechanics to fix Bessie up properly, and by then my dad was sick of sinking money into her, and sold her while I was in college.

I hope her new owner treated her better than I did.