2:32 p.m. - Saturday, May. 10, 2003
End of an Era for Ms Leslie

Well, there she goes�

The man with a truck is out there loading the old van up right now. Gee�. I�m going to miss the darn thing.

I was a guy when I got her. I lived in her sometimes. I drove her around and slept like an animal in the back, parked in a far space at a rest area, or sometimes just in the parking lot of a vacant gas station.

She carried a cooler of ice, which melted into water fit to drink during the day, and to use for a sponge bath in the evening. Under the seat was a case of Vienna Sausages. I thought I would learn to hate Vienna Sausages, but you know what? I learned to like them instead.

Sometimes it was so hot I couldn�t sleep. I just would lay naked on the floor with the side door open in the humid, oppressive night, listening to the bullfrogs and other unnamed critters croaking, creaking, and rasping in the dark. I found that a cold can of Coke from the ice chest made a better cold pack than it did a drink, and I would press one against my neck until the blood through my aorta would cool and carry the coolness through the rest of my body.

When I woke up, the sun would be shining hot through the window onto my face. It would take a while to remember first who I was and then where I was.

It felt really free. The old van held me safely inside her for another night.

Then I finally realized I was going to have to deal with myself. I had a sense of waiting and waiting and waiting. I couldn�t wait any longer. I had to move on.

She didn�t change. She was still the same van, waiting to carry me away if I chose to go. But instead I drove her every few days to my therapist in New Orleans. At first, I carried a safety box in the back. Inside it was a set of men�s clothing. And coveralls. I was beginning to live as a woman, but without confidence. What if I broke down? What if I had to fix a flat? I had no idea how to get these things accomplished as a woman.. only as a guy. And so I carried my safety box, which was really a security box.

She didn�t break down, She took me to every session. If I came out crying, she was there to take me away, out onto the freeway where the tears wouldn�t show. If I came out happy, she was there. I could roll up the windows and sing all the way home. She would never tell.

How strange we must have looked together by the end. Her, with the soldiers stickers pasted all over her and me, hiking my skirt up high to make the giant step in. We were no longer a perfect match.

She waited for me the first time I went to Thailand. She sat in the driveway for a month, and then started up for me as if I had been gone only a moment. I was little changed, that anyone could see. But I was different in a very important way. I think I really left her behind when I left that first time. When I came home, things weren�t the same anymore. She became less a part of me. She became transportation only. And I wasn�t happy to be inside her any more.

But we made the best of a bad situation. I didn�t need to go very far very often now. When I did, she still took me there. Hot, dented, high, sometimes moody, but she took me.

Then, when it was nearly time for me to go to Thailand again, we gave up on each other. I knew that when I came home this time, I could no longer own or drive this van. She knew it too. But she took me anyway on the one final trip I needed to make. Ann and Mike were counting on me to bring them home from New Orleans� and I was counting on the van to help me do it.

I was only half the way there when the charging needle began to edge away from �charge�. Even then, it didn�t just stop charging. It tapered off. So I kept driving until I reached the train station. Hoping it would start again, I turned it off for an hour while I waited for the train to arrive. When I turned the key to start her up for the trip home, she jumped to life just like always. I really did love her for that. But as we drove the 75 miles home, she got weaker and weaker. It was evening and I had to turn on the lights. That ended any charging of her battery. After that, it became a race to get home before the headlights and the engine finally failed,

We did make it. I dropped Ann and Mike off at their house and drove home into my regular parking space. When I turned her off, it was for the last time.

By morning she was dead.

I knew I was getting another car when I returned from Thailand. I think she did too. I knew we were no longer suited for each other. I think she did too. Still, I�m sorry to see her go. And I wonder if she is too.

The best consolation is this: I have given her to some interesting people. They camp. They watch birds� without killing them. They go places together and enjoy themselves. When the man with the truck puts her down on the ground again, the interesting people are going to bring her back to life. Then, sometimes, they are going to go to interesting places and do interesting things, and they�ll do it in my poor old van.

I like that.

Happy Thoughts, Deep Breaths,

Coming Soon:

More about Altoona

A Day in Luray

Driving in the fellership of Jeezus

What not to do with Dr Siang�s Pure Oil

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