1986 Chevrolet Chevette
It all began in 1986, when Chevy put out the last of a series of small, cheap cars known as Chevettes, when my father, then an indebted young medical photographer bought a new dark navy car, which will henceforth be known as "Regan" in duo tribute to the president who was in office when the car was made, and to the demonic child who's behavior the car mimicked. For a 'throwaway' car, Regan preformed adequately for it's first few years of life, providing a satisfactory, but not glamorous way of getting from point A to point B. Then, one spring night in the early 90s' the first of Regan's rebellions started. We had been visiting friends in Detroit (the Motor City, ironically) and had started to head homewards, when Regan began to shake violently and then stalled in a rough neighborhood, where no amount of pleading or cursing could get him to start again. I remember my dad saying "Keep close" to my brother and I, all while swearing viciously under his breath as we made our through the dark streets back to our friends' home. After a long and thoroughly boring morning in a local mall's auto parts shop, we learned that Regan had burst a radiator hose, and this event marked the start of a series of new behavior from Regan. Next to go were a series of carburetors, none of which lasted long, as Regan had the habit of stalling anytime he came to a full stop, unless quickly jammed into neutral. This was exciting, to say the least, because although the engine had died, Regan would continue to roll forward, possibly into oncoming traffic. I realize now how lucky we were that nobody was ever injured. Being the car from Hell, Regan tolerated warm weather, but hated cold weather, making the winter months misery, as the heater was very slow to respond. In his later years, Regan also developed a series of exhaust problems that resulted in a sound/feeling like there was a potato in the muffler 24/7. By the time my dad finally relented a bought a used Saturn, the windshield was badly cracked, the front grille smashed in from a speeding driver, rust had eaten away at the metal over the wheels, and the navy paint was marred by hundreds of tiny scratches. The upholstery was almost threadbare and reeked of years of pizza and chinese takeout. In fact, dad had to perform an elaborate ritual just to get Regan to turn over in the mornings. I don't know what happened to Regan after dad got rid of him, but I can guess that he's RIP- rusting in pieces in a junkyard somewhere. Regan my be gone, but he left a lasting on me, I feel vaguely queasy every time an 80s era hatchback. Note: I mean no offense to the former President Ronald Regan by writing this piece.)
Sarah C.