My first car that was mine was mostly mine. What I mean is, it's ownership was unclear. Was it Dad's? Was it Liz's and mine? Whose car was it? I think it was mine. More on that..
It was a 76 Toyota Corolla fastback. Brown. This is not it.
Like I said, it was brown. It was dinged up (do I even have to say that?) and I'm pretty sure I was driving it because no respectable person would. It was handed down without too much emotional suffering of attachment on the giver's part. That's my opinion, but I was an ungrateful teenager who accepted free cars as my due, so what do I know?
Anyway, the car was great. I mean, fucking great. It looked like a piece of shit, and god knows I treated it like a piece of shit, but holy god did it have a lot of pickup. It was a manual, and it would LEAP away from a dead stop. For the first five seconds of acceleration it was like a freaking Ferrari. After that, meh. But I took full advantage of this one, beautiful attribute and sailed away from every stop light like a smoky brown angel of speed and freedom.
Did I mention it stalled all the time? I used to casually bring this up with Dad, "Hey Dad, why would a car stall all the time? Like, also, not start? Like, Dad, my car won't start most of time." The answers would usually come in the form of advice about parking on hills (highly advised!) and the rewards of learning how to keep all three pedals on the floor going at once to avoid stalling. Did I, 16 year old Mary Ellen, also know that you can push-start a car using reverse gear? Cause you can! It's super easy and dangerous, so no problem.
Regarding the push-starting; it was mandatory and daily. Liz and I became experts at choosing parking spots that were down-hill, with enough clearance to easily roll out using only forward motion, and plenty of room to attempt several starts before coming to a stop sign or traffic light. I venture to say that Liz and I became the foremost World Authorities on push-starting. It's not just about popping the clutch, people! It's about manipulating your friends into pushing your stupid car. It's about always having extra boots in the trunk in your best friends' sizes so that they have no excuse for why they can't push your car. "I'm wearing heels! My shoes are expensive and it's raining! I'm slipping in all this snow!" Too bad, my friend; I have old, crusty boots in my trunk that are ice-cold, possibly full of spiders, and ready for you to slip on your stockinged feet. So get pushing and let's go to Arner's.
I realize now that the car must have been the dual twin property of me and Liz. Obviously it was, now that I think about it. But living and working and schooling with a twin at your side for your whole life is a weird thing. The person is so ubiquitous that they become almost invisible in your memory, because they are like yourself. I mean, do you specifically remember your left arm being with you at a party? No, your arm is there, just like always. Anyway, Liz, I'm sorry that I took that car from you. Cause now I remember a phone call from John about this VERY SUBJECT.
I was at rd4, probably playing with cats or maybe doing a handstand? I think I was 18 or 19, so yeah, I was almost certainly upside down or multi-directional in some capacity. The phone rang, it was John. He came right to the point. He was calling to set me straight. Didn't I understand that the car didn't belong to me? (Wait, what?) Why was I raising such a fuss about the car when I didn't even HAVE the car. Possession was 9/10's ownership, and I had essentially given up possession, so just give it up! Mary Ellen owns the car now, she drives it, she "maintains" it, so it's her car. (Confusion). "But, John, I'm Mary Ellen." Oh. Well, congratulations, Mary Ellen, you've successfully maneuvered it away from Liz. What's her phone number?
Thank you, John, for setting Liz straight about the car. It was mine for at least a couple more months or years of bliss. Then what happened? I have no idea. Something must have because I don't have it now. Oh yeah, I remember. I sold it to my boyfriend Lee who took it across the country, never changed the plates, and abandoned it when it stopped working. The city of Seattle impounded it and after 6 months tracked me down as the last owner and sent me a bill for $680.00 for towing and later, destruction fees.
All's well that ends well, I always never say.
