Selling Bessie

Writing Prompt: Tell the story of car deal from the car’s point of view.
            

I dozed in the late afternoon sunlight, feeling the crisp breeze blow over my hood and roof. My owner, Paul, came out of the house and down the steps, the bottom stair creaking as he headed to the driveway. He called to his son. “Dougie, you want to take one last ride in ole’ Bessie?”

I blinked open my headlights and watched tow-headed Dougie run from the sand pile over to his dad. Paul brushed the sand off Dougie’s hands and knees, and then opened my big passenger door and helped his son get inside. Dougie slid across my red leather seat and started pushing the buttons on the shift box connected to my steering column. Take it easy there, little fella’. I’ve got feelings, too.

Paul walked around in front of me, running his big calloused hand across my hood. Yessir, he knows how to love-on me. He then opened my driver’s side door, and slipped in behind my red steering wheel.  “Enough pushing the buttons, Dougie. You’ll get Bessie all mixed up in what she’s supposed to do.” 

 Paul put the key into my ignition, and my 352 cu. in. overhead-valve V-8 engine roared to life. It tickled me every time. I cracked a wide chrome-bumper smile.

“Dougie, find the D on the shift box. Your name starts with the same letter, remember.”

Dougie leaned over toward his dad. His index finger hovered over the D button. “Is this the right one?”

Paul nodded his head. “Push ‘er in and we’ll be off.”

Doug punched his finger down onto my gearbox like a doctor delivering a flu shot. In spite of the indignity of having a four year old dive-bomb me, my transmission effortlessly shifted into drive.

Paul eased me along the dirt driveway that circled around an ancient elm tree, and we headed away from the farmhouse out onto the main road.

Paul keeps my tires filled with air to 32 psi so I roll along the country road without lurching my passengers from side to side. Paul flipped on my left blinker and I turned onto Lakeside Drive, which I know takes us into town.

  Wonder what this trip is for? Maybe the boy’s getting a haircut. Or maybe we’re going for ice cream, though I hope not. Dougie’s not too careful about dripping on my flawless interior. But it’s a beautiful day for a drive whatever the reason.

 Dougie wriggled on my seat, sitting up on his knees to look out my side window, then turning around to look out my big curved rear window, and then plopping himself down facing front. He pushed my automatic button to make his window go down. “Dad, where’re we going?”

Paul glanced in my rear view mirror and then at Dougie. “Goin’ to talk to Lester at Northlake Auto. See what kind of a deal he’ll give me for Bessie. Thought you could help me pick out a new car.”

From my outside mirror molded into the body of the door, I watched Dougie’s eyes grow big as he stared at his dad. “We’re getting rid of Bessie?”

Paul nodded his head. “Yep, might be. She’s been around a long time and your mom and me have been thinking about getting something newer, more modern.”

Dougie’s fidgeting stopped as we continued to town.

 Poor Dougie. I know how he’s feeling in his heart, ‘cause I feel sad in my engine, too. They’re selling me for a newer model.  What’s going to happen to me? I’ve been with Paul, Addie and the family for ten years. I brought Dougie’s older brother, Stan, home from the hospital back in ’57, a year after they bought me from the dentist. When Dougie came along. I got them all safely home in the blizzard of ‘62. And I can fit nearly the whole Little League team in here, as well as all their gear in my trunk.

Paul switched on my right blinker and turned into the car lot. My power brakes slowed me down with no jerking. Paul stopped in front of the office and turned off my engine. “Okay, Son, let’s go see what Lester thinks of our Bess.”

 While they got out of the car, my automatic load-leveler came on to make sure I was even in front and in back. When the motor shut itself off, I settled down to wait.

I watched through the plate glass window as a short, rotund man shook Paul’s hand and offered Dougie a lollipop. Then they all headed for the door and came outside, and stood around me. Dougie slipped his hand into his dad’s. He hadn’t even ripped the cellophane off his lollipop.

“Paul, I can’t believe you’re finally getting rid of this big old monster. ‘Bout time you moved into the 60’s since the decade’s more’n half over. What year’d you say she is?”

“A ’55.”

 “She was a beauty in her time, Paul, but big cars like this, with all the bells and whistles, like those power windows, are a thing of the past.”

 I watched Lester cock his head and walk around me. He kicked my tires. Oh, I’d like to kick him a time or two, myself.

He ran his hand along my rocker panels. “You’ve kept her in great shape, though, I’ll give you that. Not a hint of rust anywhere that I can see.”

Paul rocked on his heels. “Whatdya think you’d be willing to give me toward a trade?”

Lester fiddled with his fedora. “Well, now. Why not take a look around the lot and pick out something you’d like to try out. Then we can talk trade value. You gotta remember this one’s nearly twelve years old, and the problem Packard’s had with its transmissions and the electronics is goin’ to make it hard to re-sell her. I’ll do some figurin’ while you look for a new ride.” He doffed his hat and went back into his office.

 Paul and Dougie headed off to the road edge of the sales lot to look at the cars lined up facing the road, their antennas tied with brightly colored streamers that gently waved in the wind. I could see Dougie hadn’t let go of his dad’s hand. Paul leaned down a time or two to listen to something Dougie said to him.

 Paul opened the door of a red Plymouth Valiant.

 Oh yeah, she’s modern, but she’s too narrow in the wheelbase. She’ll never take you smoothly over the ruts in your road. And those thin tires are no good. They’ll blow out the first hole they hit in your driveway. I bet she has a tinny little beep horn, too. Not like my solid blare to get people to move out of the way. You’ll be tradin’ her in a year or two, and wish you hadn’t gotten rid of me.

Lester came back out of the office and opened my door. He slid into the driver’s seat. He adjusted my rear view mirror, curling his lips back to check his teeth. Then he rubbed his hand around my over-sized steering wheel. “Oh, she’s a beauty all right. Not a crack in this steering wheel or in any of the seat coverings.”

Creep! Get your hands off me.  I set my load-leveler off again, hoping he’d jump out.

Paul and Dougie walked across the tarred yard and stood next to Lester. Lester jumped out of the car and smiled at them. “See anything you like?”

“Depends on what you think you can give me for Bessie here.” Paul put his lower arms on my roof and leaned in on me.

“Best offer I can give you is $500.”

Paul nodded his head. “I see. Hmm.” He turned and picked Dougie up, looking at his face. Then he turned to Lester. “My boy and I have been talking, and we’ve decided we don’t want to sell Bessie after all. She’s more valuable to us than $500 and some shiny new car. She’s carried us through a lot and I know she has plenty of life left in her, so we’re just going to take her back home with us.”

Paul set Dougie back on the ground. “In fact, I told Dougie, we’re stopping at the Dairy Freeze for an ice cream on the way home. We’re goin’ to celebrate keepin’ Bessie.”

I couldn’t help it, but I tooted my horn and flashed my lights. I was going home with Paul and the boy! And it was okay that Dougie would probably drip ice cream on my fine interior. Paul would wipe up the mess and rub my upholstery with Ivory soap. It was good to be going home where I belonged.