Tonight, as oftentimes happens these days, I started
thinking about Nellie. I was sitting in the Meijer parking lot and suddenly
memory after memory of my adventures in Nellie came flooding back to me. I was
laughing out loud at the memories of my days with Nellie. She was a good truck,
faithful to the end. This is a long overdue tribute to the truck that I
despised on sight, then grew to love like a best friend.
Nellie was my truck, my first car, my first taste of
teenaged freedom. And Nellie was very… unique. She was practically given to me
by an elderly man from church. Fixing cars was a hobby of his since he was very
young, and he knew my sixteenth birthday was coming up. I was sort of like a
surrogate granddaughter to him and his wife (his wife died a few years before
this time), so he wanted to find a car to fix up for me. He asked what kind of
car I wanted and I told him a truck. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and
said, “A truck, huh?” but didn’t try to talk me out of it. I’ll forever be
thankful for that. Then he asked what color I wanted. Of course I told him
blue.
A week later he told me he’d found a blue truck for me that
he was working on. Soon after that, it was parked in our driveway, where it
would sit for nearly a year (I kept putting off getting my license). And as I
mentioned before, I hated that truck at first sight. It was a ’94 GMC Sonoma.
As in… old, beat up, and boxy. The right side view mirror was actually the
mirror of a much smaller car, and had been taped (yes, taped) onto the frame of
the truck’s missing mirror. But perhaps worst of all was the color. I cringed
every time I saw it. It was blue alright. Bright, BRIGHT neon blue. I felt like
I should be handing out sunglasses to everyone that saw it.
I spent the year between getting the truck and getting my
license mentally preparing myself and resigning to the fact that this would be
my mode of transportation for an indefinite amount of time. Everyone who knew
of my distaste for this blinding blue… thing comforted me by saying, “Well,
it’ll make you appreciate the car you have after this one dies.” I hoped it was
a swift and painful death.
There was much joy on finally getting my license at age 17, but
it was with a heavy heart that I began driving the long-dormant truck. Little
did I know, I would have some real adventures with it. And I would grow to love
it.
I knew its name right away. Nellie. Nellie was the wife’s
name of the man who fixed up the truck for me. She was old and gentle in my
memory, much like this truck I now found myself the owner of. So Nellie and I
began our life together. It was a loud beginning.
Probably my earliest memory of Nellie (well, from the time I
started driving her) was the first time I started her. Nellie was LOUD. She
roared everywhere she went and I blushed and tried to ignore the turning heads.
My friend Jessica and I (she drove a real beater too) learned the art of
playing it off like we wanted it to
be that loud. You know how we do. But really… I was the girl sitting in the
parking lot till it had mostly cleared of people so no one would hear me roar
to life. Yes. Yes I did.
I think it was the second or third time I had ever driven
Nellie that I went to a school soccer game with my friend Petra. This was one
of those occasions where I waited till the parking lot was empty to start my
truck. As a side note, I also parked way in the back lot so no one would see my
pathetic taped-on mirror. Anyway, as luck would have it, Petra ended up staying
really late hanging out in the parking lot talking to Donovan, so I at least
had an excuse to wait so long. It was also really good Donovan was there. I’d
never driven Nellie at night before and I didn’t know how to turn my lights on.
(I know, I know… That’s really pathetic). Turns out there was a strange gray
block to the left of the steering wheel that flips. So thank you, Donovan, for
teaching me how to turn my lights on.
For the record, both my headlights worked great. But my
taillights didn’t. There was a wiring issue that had to be resolved in order
for them to work. And in messing with those wires, something got messed with
relating to my horn. So then only the left half of the center of the steering
wheel honked. You could pound the right half all day long and it wouldn’t make
a sound, but if you just brushed the left half, Nellie gave a mighty honk.
I started driving Nellie in late August. It took about two
seconds to realize the air conditioning didn’t work. So I went everywhere with
the windows down. I quickly learned to have deodorant and a brush in my bag at
all times. It was a sweaty, windblown experience every time I got behind the
wheel. More than once I almost wrecked when a bee came flying into my window
and hit me in the head. It was sweet relief when the weather turned colder and
I could drive with the windows up. My heater worked great!
For the first four or so months that I had my license, I
prided myself on my bad parking jobs. I don’t know why, but I had absolutely no
regard for the white lines painted on the ground giving my truck a temporary
home. I especially liked pulling into the nearly-empty school parking lot for
band practice and parking diagonally across two or three spaces at once. I like
to think Nellie liked it, too. I think she felt like she was on display. By
this point in time, I’d learned to embrace her loud color and engine, and let
her be what she was. Love comes softly, you know? I’m sure it helped that my
dear friend Erika told me she saw me driving one day, and seeing me behind the
wheel… It just looked right. The color was cute with me, she said. I will
forever be grateful for that compliment. It lessened my hatred.
It was my senior year of high school, but I had chosen to
take college courses at UC Clermont instead of going to the high school. As a
result, I spent a lot of time alone. In fact, I spent a lot of time in my
truck. It was a thirty minute commute to school, where I also worked, and I
often ate lunch in there, too. I think so much time alone got me a little on
the depressed side. Nellie was there to absorb my secret tears. I think that’s
when I really started to love the ol’ girl. She became my refuge at times. I
could always count on Nellie to be my obnoxiously loud, very dependable friend.
She heard many private conversations with friends, but always kept our secrets.
Somewhere in the middle of winter, my blinker stopped
working. It was the strangest thing! I’d push down the blinker handle thingy
and it would click, but the light would just stay lit. It wouldn’t blink! So I
had to manually blink. No, I didn’t point out the window. I manually clicked
that handle up and down, up and down, until I’d turned, or changed lanes. I did
this for MONTHS people. And then it just randomly started working again! I called
my mom I was so excited! That lasted about a day, and then it quit again. Back
to manual blinking. I just smiled and shook my head. Oh, Nellie…
I had my first accident in Nellie. I was at UC, and I’d gone
to get my lunch out of my truck between classes, when I noticed there was a
parking spot open on the other side of the aisle where I was parked. It was almost
a game with me to get the best parking spot possible at all times. So even
though I was going to spend more time starting my truck, driving all the way
down the aisle and back up the other side, saving myself about five steps
walking time, that’s exactly what I did. Yes. This was what I did for fun back
then. I think it’s safe to say my life was kind of pathetic. The most pathetic
part of all is that I was positively giddy at the prospect of a better parking
spot! So giddy, in fact, that I looked both ways before pulling out of my aisle
and didn’t see the Jeep coming right by, and promptly pulled out and demolished
his driver’s side door with a huge grin on my face. Yes. It happened just like
that. The best part of all is that a campus police officer was right behind the
guy and saw the whole thing. (I had absolutely no case whatsoever). Turns out
the guy I hit was the professor down the hall from my Psych class that I walked
past every single day. And the very next day as I walked past (hiding my face
as much as possible), I heard him telling another professor about the girl that
just plowed out and hit him yesterday. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but laugh
then, and I’m CRACKING UP right now. I’d like to add that my Nellie was
completely unscathed by the interaction, and left a beautiful blue streak along
with the dent on his car. ‘Atta girl! She’s a brick house!
Spring time came, and my mood lifted. The warm weather
returned and it was back to my old windows-down-all-the-time-so-you-better-have-deoderant-and-a-hairbrush-handy
trick. There was one particularly fine day I remember when I had yet another
embarrassing, unwanted, yet highly memorable adventure with Nellie.
I’d pulled out of my driveway, Nellie was her usual loud
self, though I thought maybe a little louder than normal. But she seemed to be
running fine, so no worries. I got about halfway to school when her decibel
output suddenly increased significantly. I was very concerned. I had no idea
what to do, but I knew something was definitely wrong. I just kept driving, of
course, and listened with increasing panic as Nellie got louder and louder.
Instincts told me to watch my rearview mirror. Wouldn’t you know it… As I’m
coasting down one long, curving hill, something big and red falls out of the
bottom of my truck, and bounces and rolls off the side of the road. Nellie was
instantly roaring louder than anything I could compare her too. My mouth gaped
open in shock and I just stared at my rearview mirror like, “What just
happened?!” But I was going to be late for class if I didn’t keep going, so
that’s what I did. And I left it there on the way home. I didn’t want to stop
and try to retrieve whatever it was… How humiliating! I told Dad about it the
next day, and he told me I needed to get the part, probably my muffler.
So the next day, when I got to the bottom of the hill, I
pulled into the vet clinic conveniently and bizarrely stationed there (there’s
nothing else around, except the fancy wedding place across the street) and
parked. I sat a moment gathering my courage, then began my journey up Mt.
Humiliation. It was a farther walk than I’d imagined. There was a bit of field
I had to cross before reaching the bottom of the hill, and then I had just the
shoulder to walk on. In other words, this little salmon was extremely easy to
see trying to swim upstream. And see they did. Probably four or five cars honked
and hollered at me while I made my ascension and again descended with the
muffler. Unfortunately, these were not angry drivers telling me to grow a brain
and get off the road. They were teenaged guys being teenaged guys, honking at a
girl. It. Was. Mortifying. But I held my head high, and went on my merry way.
Nellie was fixed soon after.
For months before her end, Nellie started this new trick
where she wouldn’t start on the first try. I’d turn the key in the ignition,
and an angry grinding sound would meet me. Usually by the fourth try, she would
come alive. But not always. I was way past being embarrassed by any of her
unique features by this time, so all the looks in the parking lot were lost on
me. However, it made dramatic exits nearly impossible. This was only a problem
when I was running late, or when I was assaulted by a guy trying to sell me his
rap CD in the McDonald’s parking lot. Yes. That happened.
Allie Mitchell was in town, so we were hanging out and
decided to get some smoothies from McDonald’s (I love their wild berry
flavor!). It was dark out as we walked back to Nellie with our delicious
purchases, and I noticed a young man trying to sell a CD to a girl in her car a
few spaces over. I immediately began praying this would be one of those rare
moments when Nellie would start first try and we could make our departure in
peace. Well, that didn’t happen. Not only did she not start the first time, she
didn’t start the second, or third, or fourth, or fifth, or sixth… I’m not even
exaggerating. And of course the guy was at my window after the first try.
It was an extremely awkward conversation for the next five
minutes. He tried very hard to get us to give him five bucks for the CD he’d
recorded. Allie was freaking out, and I’m pretty sure she was discreetly searching
the cab for a knife or a gun to use on the guy if he tried to pull anything on
us. While she was doing that, I was madly trying to get Nellie to start while
trying to get the guy to disappear. He pointed out very kindly to me that my
truck wouldn’t start. Thank you, Captain Obvious. He said it wouldn’t start
because I wouldn’t buy his CD. I said, “Why don’t you give us a rap about my
truck then? Let’s see how good you are.” So he started rapping. Something about
Elizabeth and Allie in the ‘Nati and my truck is blue. Yeah, he rhymed “Allie”
with “’Nati” (as in Cincinnati). Wonder of wonders, she started!! I immediately
pulled away and ignored his remark that I owed him for getting Nellie to start.
Whatevs. I found the whole thing slightly unnerving, and very hilarious, but
poor Allie had been legitimately fearing for our lives.
This is where the story gets sad. Nellie began getting sick.
My beloved truck just didn’t have it in her anymore. School started again that
September, and this year I was going downtown to UC’s main campus. But before
we get to the sad stuff, I have just one more memory of my adventures with
Nellie. It was the very first week of class. I was still working at the
Clermont College branch of UC, and had to go from the main campus out there to
work. Well, I was on my way there for the first time, had no idea how to get
there, and decided I needed to turn around. I pulled into a parking lot, but I
guess I misjudged the turn. I ramped the curb with my back right tire pretty
hard.
That’s when the thumping started. I pulled out of the
parking lot, my brow furrowed in concern yet again by some new noise coming
from Nellie. The thumping got worse, then leveled off at awful. The whole truck
was swaying with the thump. I made it just up the hill, and decided I should
probably take a look at whatever happened, so I pulled into the nearest
neighborhood street. I got out and examined the tire, flat as a pancake. I
looked around me and realized… I was in the hood. This is the part of the story
where I exclaim an extremely justified,
WHY ME???
I quickly got back in the cab, locked the doors, and called
my Dad. Dad told me to call Philip, who might be on campus nearby. I got Philip
on the phone, who said he’d come find me, and where was I exactly? I don’t know………
Good luck, big brother!
So I waited, and waited, and waited. I watched little
children get dropped off. I watched a guy saunter around the corner and come
back about fifteen minutes later with a brown bag bulging with something. I
soon found out it was a couple of subs, which I tried not to watch him eat. An
elderly woman came out of the house I was parked in front of and asked if I
needed help. I told her no, my brother was coming. Finally, he showed up, and
gave me a Changing Your Tire 101 lesson. The whole thing was watched by a group
of unsavory looking characters down the street. I was so glad I had a spare
tire, and Philip had the necessary tools. I was back in business minutes later!
Now. Back to the beginning of the end.
Nellie lasted just two weeks on my highway commute to
school. In that second week, she overheated on my way to school. This was
something I’d never encountered before. My Dad wasn’t in town, so of course I
called the next logical person: Etienne. Because my boyfriend who is 800 miles
away will really be able to help me out with an overheating truck. (You’ll have
to excuse me. I was young and in love. Still am). But anyway, he gave me
possible reasons it could be behaving that way (there was something else
happening, too, but I don’t remember what). I told my parents about it later,
and they told me to just take it easy, we’d start looking for another car
(there was just no denying she was on a downward spiral). My mom suggested if
it started overheating again to turn on the heater. Some of you may scoff at
that, but I had to do it multiple times, and it did work. Nearly burned my feet
to crisps, though, with the air right on them.
Eventually Nellie wouldn’t go over 35 mph. I didn’t know
what to do. I knew every time I started her might be my last. I did what any
girl would do in my situation. I called up my photographer best friend Trish
and said, “Can I have a photo shoot with Nellie before she dies?” Being the
person she is, Trish loved the idea. We went to Stonelick Lake the next day. Those
last few days were probably my most exciting with Nellie. Adrenaline was
pumping the entire time. You just never knew when she was gonna go. I drove a
nerve-wracking 35 all the way to Stonelick. We took some shots with her parked
tailgate to the boat ramp, on a slope.
We decided to leave and take some shots by a field, too, but
Nellie wouldn’t start. Not only that, but if I took my foot off the brake, she
started rolling toward the lake. I was panicking! I had visions of my truck
sinking to the bottom of Stonelick Lake, making headlines all across Goshen.
What to do, what to do?? I just kept trying to start her, but it seemed she was
really gone this time. Trish and I just stared at each other horrified. To make
matters worse, there were some guys waiting to use the boat ramp. I was so
embarrassed and considered asking them to push her up the hill. That seemed too
cruel to ask of anyone, though. “Hey, can you push my 3 ton truck up this hill
for me? Thanks.” Yeah right.
I’m sure it was by the grace of God that she finally started
just one more time. I inched my way up the hill ever so gently, inched across
the parking lot, crawled out onto the road… I didn’t dare stop at any of the
stop signs, I confess. I just didn’t know if I’d get rolling again. And then it
happened. She gave it all she had, but that was it. She cut off, and I was
stuck there in the middle of the road. There was a convenient little access
patch to a field on my left. If I could just get over there somehow!
You’ve probably guessed what comes next. Yes. I asked my
friend who was doing this shoot as a favor to me to push my truck over into
that field. And ya know what? She did. And then I called my mom, who reminded
me that she’d warned me it wasn’t safe to take Nellie out anymore. So then I
called my Dad, and he said to leave the truck and ride home with Trish. But
Trish and I looked around and realized the sun was perfect and we were in a
field, just like we wanted! So being the intelligent beings we are, we took
advantage of our good fortune and got those “field shots”.
And I got to have one last awkward, terrifying, yet always
memorable adventure with Nellie. While I was standing in the bed of my truck
posing, a man in a beat up white work truck slows to a stop, and starts talking
to us. He told me how good I looked and asked my name and my age, and I
officially freaked out. I gave him my first name, but not my last. Looking back
I should have said, “It’s none of your business creep, leave me alone!” But
nothing like that had ever happened to me before, and I was flustered. But
kids, don’t talk to strangers. Thankfully, he left, but it took several
minutes, and I was legitimately afraid. Trish and I beat it out of there as
quickly as possible after that. It was a very tense, quiet ride home.
Nellie was towed home later by a bigger pickup, thanks to
Brian Burns. She was parked in the same spot she was parked in for that year
before I got my license, never to be driven again. It broke my heart to see her
out there. Dad found me a new car within the week. I felt like such a traitor
pulling up in my new Toyota Corolla (much more practical, but it’s no truck)
and parking next to Nellie. It really was hard for me. Dad told me to clean her
out, and Nellie was sold to one of James’ friends. I never saw her again.
I was truly upset by the loss of my beloved truck and
friend, Nellie. But I had to admit, my new car was a lot better… It actually
ran smoothly, it was quiet, it saved me a lot in gas money, and I never had to
worry if it was going to leave me stranded somewhere. I was driving it trying
to think of what to name it when that occurred to me. I never had to worry with
this car. That reminded me of Hakuna Matata. Should I call it Hakuna? No…
Matata? No… It’s just not right separated that way. Wait! TIMON! I’ll call it
Timon! A more fitting name I couldn’t have chosen. It’s small and tan, just
like Timon, and it gives me no worries. Granted, that was two years ago… Now it’s
giving me worries. But it’s still Timon. After I named it, we started getting
along really well.
Still, he’s not Nellie. I will always remember that
obnoxious roar of hers; how she always had some new surprise in store for me;
how I got into all sorts of scrapes with her. How I grew up with her. She
witnessed some great moments of my life, and I’m so glad I owned her for that
brief time. I know it’s weird, but I truly loved that truck. I’d drive her
today if I could get her back, even with all her imperfections. To me, she was
perfect.
