Car Troubles (Part Two)

It was a hot car by anyone’s standards: sleek black body, tan soft top to match the leather interior, shiny silver rims. Ryan would be disappointed if I didn’t also pay homage to the speaker system that could rattle windows from miles away.

Ryan spent hours revamping that little Miata into a vehicle resembling a porch. And when he wasn’t investing time, energy and lots of money into that car, he was cruising around town with the top down. As the wind blew through his hair, women winked, men drooled and cops pulled out their clipboards.

That car was his baby… until he met me.

Soon all of Ryan’s time, energy and money were invested in me. I was his baby. And to prove it, Ryan would often trade cars with me for a day or two. He’d take my 87’ Corolla and I’d cruise the streets of Provo in his Batmobile—a fair trade I’d say.

One night, we exchanged cars under the agreement that I’d pick him up at 5:30 a.m. the following day. It was still dark outside when I walked outside the next morning. I turned the key and pulled the handle, but the car door wouldn’t budge. I yanked and pried until I realized that I was actually playing a game of “tug war.” Someone was inside the car pulling it closed.

At first I thought Ryan was playing a crazy joke on me. I wouldn’t put it passed him. He loved to tease me.

Then the unmistakable odor of stale cigarettes, pork rinds, and whiskey wafted out of the car. I know that everyone has their off days in the bathing department, but not Ryan. He always smelled good. The person inside the car was not Ryan. I was terrified.

You know in the movies when something intense happens and everything becomes slow motion? My world suddenly slowed. The car door creaked opened.

“Geeeeet the heeeeeck ouuuuuut of myyyyy caaaaar,” I garbled (but “heck” was not the actual word I selected for that moment).

The man in the car was large and hairy (and did I mention that he really stunk). He had a knife.

I couldn’t run. My feet had turned into cinder blocks. I was frozen in place.

What happened next was a blur, but the end result was the man disappeared into the darkness and I stood there dumbfounded, but unassaulted.

It seems that the man had slit through the soft top and unlocked the car door. He'd been grinding away at the car’s ignition when I arrived and foiled his evil plot to steal the car.

The thief caused over $3000 worth of damage and the car smelled like butt for weeks, but at least I was okay.

Ryan repaired his beloved car but sold it a month later. Some things, such as fiancés, are more important than “things.”

We still think fondly of that amazing car, though.