c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(2-25)
Owning a tan, four-door Chevette did nothing to enhance my own appeal as a potential dating candidate, or object of romance. Yet by being so cheap to own and operate, it let me escape the confinement of my family home. I had returned from New York with the clothes on my back, and a few meager possessions. A literal example of the biblical, prodigal son. But the household environment where my parents lived was so limited in size, that even finding a place to sleep presented a challenge.
I spent around three years on their couch. Napping with a jacket over myself in daylight hours, and folding out this convertible furnishing at night. The living room had tall windows that were not sealed well. So, it stayed cold throughout winter months. I used an electric blanket to warm the bed before crawling under its covers. All of this depended on my work schedule, which varied widely. But I was grateful to be given any sort of accommodation.
While my weekly paycheck did not stretch too far, it was enough to keep the hatchback mule tanked up and ready for off-hour adventures. I took every opportunity to get away from home, whether that meant extra duties on the job, or leisure activities with newfound friends. In a sense, I regressed socially, out of need. After spending time with college graduates and teachers in the Finger Lakes, studying and learning at a frantic pace, that paradigm quickly reversed. I now found myself having reached twenty-something in calendar years, yet with the sort of relationship climate I might have experienced long before. This backwards evolution meant that the GM econobox suited my needs, perfectly. Though with every roll out of our driveway, I felt a sense of personal shame.
In those days, our community in Geauga County had not grown much since its time being established as a rural capital. Those who were interested in some sort of nightlife were forced to head north, to places like Mentor, Willoughby, and Eastlake. With the thrifty habits of my bargain-basement Chevy, however, this wasn’t difficult to afford. I began to travel frequently.
Tim and Tom were two associates who I had met at the department store in town. The former of this tag team drove an Eddie Bauer edition of the Ford Bronco II. The latter had a Pontiac Grand Prix, with a V-8 motor rumbling under its hood. Both vehicles were stylish and capable, and attracted lots of attention wherever we went for entertainment. All three of us were single, ambitious, and looking for female company. Though as the oldest, and least financially secure, I was the odd fellow out, in this trio. My chums liked to boast about their vehicles, and adult toys like guns and gear for hunting and fishing. I had only the fuel-sipping slowpoke as an asset, plus a couple of Japanese electric guitars, and some vinyl records. My ability to brag was slight. This meant that generally, I played the role of someone destined for the friend zone.
Still, it was preferable to sitting on the ragged couch at home, counting pennies.
During a particular outing in the winter, our region had experienced several feet of lake effect snow. When we arrived at Spanky’s, a popular venue for rockers and kids, there were mounds of the frosty, white stuff piled everywhere. While drinking, we managed to get a few big-haired, young women to visit our table. Then, Timothy swelled with a rush of alcoholic courage surging in his veins.
“This weather doesn’t bother me at all! Nah, I got a rig to handle that, no matter how bad it gets! As a matter of fact, I parked on a big heap left by a plow truck, just for a kick! That shit doesn’t scare me! Not even a little bit! Even a Jeep can’t do what my Bronco does!”
Thomas had a slender build compared to my other friend, but he was tall enough to stand out above others who were lost in the crowd. He nodded and smiled while listening to the description of four-wheel-drive prowess. Then sat his brew aside, and started riffing on a different tangent.
“Yeah, my buddy really gets around in the snow! But the car I own has one hell of a sound system. Big speakers in the back, and a cassette player. And it moves like a cheetah, on the highway! I can burn rubber, from here to Cleveland! People in high school called it my pimpmobile! It’s a champ at the drag strip, running hot all the way!”
I knew his claim of racing dominance was nonsense. Yet with the keys to my Chevette hidden under layers of seasonal clothing, I had no right to join in their cocky competition to impress our guests.
When last call had arrived, and the taps ran dry, we adjourned to the club parking lot. Both friends had a crowd of followers on their heels. I watched the sparkling shades of pink and blonde disappear, as arrangements were made for meeting up at Denny’s, an all-night eatery down the boulevard. Something that my empty wallet would unfortunately not support. So, before I could twist a key in my door lock, everyone was gone. I ended up alone, scraping ice off of the mirrors, and using a long-handled brush to prop the gas pedal of my automobile. Being deadly cold outside, the motor refused to idle smoothly. I used this hillbilly improvisation to get it up to operating temperature, while waiting in the dark.
Eventually, I realized that my bladder would never hold during the trip back to Chardon, and Maple Avenue. But Spanky’s had closed for good, while I fiddled with the accelerator. Feeling jumpy and irritated, and somewhat buzzed from quenching my thirst, I knelt in front of the beige bomb, purposefully. The angular hood shielded me from being too conspicuous. Not that anyone would have paid attention at such a late hour, especially with another storm on the horizon.
The radio crackled and shot sparks as I drove home. This meant that I switched it off abruptly, and finished the trek in silence. In the morning, I would realize that the previous owner had replaced blown fuses with wads of aluminum foil. They must have gotten tired of attempting to address persistent issues with the wiring harness.
My familiarity with T-car ownership was only beginning. Too soon, I would realize that there were many other design flaws to be confronted, while at the wheel. Though with few options to consider, it didn’t matter much.
I was stuck with my Chevette. And it would make me regret that purchase, for years to come.
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