“She” for Her

I despised myself and all the poor choices I had made in my life that now left with me only one option. She was the last thing I had left to remind me of home and my parents. I needed the money and my time was up. It turned out that $20,000 was the price to sell my soul and I needed every penny if I had any hope at redemption.

“She” is a 1970 Chevrolet Monte Carlo, painted Candy Apple Red, but she’s so much more than that... She was gifted to my parents, from their parents, when they were married back in the same year. The car was then passed down to me in high school. I grew up in that car, lost my virginity in that car, smoked my first joint in that car, outran the cops in that car, drove from the Pacific to the Atlantic in that car. My first car and my last.

My dad and I spent countless hours fixing her up and maintaining her. He taught me everything I know about cars and I inherited his love for them. I used to have an abundance of pictures of me and Dad working on her. My mom loved taking them when we were absorbed in our work. Over the years, I’ve lost track of their whereabouts; yet another poor choice.

The plan was to pass her on to my son and continue the legacy. I had grandiose visions of sharing the same moments Dad and I had, with my son. This was the measure I held for myself in becoming the type of father that my son deserved. This sale perfectly defined my failures in life.

I could blame the COVID for imploding my business but most of the damage had been done by me, well before the pandemic. I never mastered the art of living within my means. I spent money in an attempt to fill the massive void left from the loss of my parents. All the while thinking that material objects could bring about some semblance of happiness in my life. The bankruptcy, followed by long term unemployment, has brought the lesson home for me; loud and clear. Luckily, she was valued by the bankruptcy lawyers without visual appraisal and hence remained in my possession as my last and only asset. Hell, the whole bankruptcy was done over the phone, thanks to COVID.

I expect that this tale of woe could be more easily digested if I hadn’t been so successful early in life. Captain of the swim team and water polo team in high school, excellent grades, beasted the SAT, then on to a full ride scholarship at a prestigious Ivy League School where I graduated with honors - these facts make the tale much less palatable. Then I went on to serve in the world’s greatest Navy as an officer for 12 years. Fall from grace doesn’t quite cover it...

I will, however, blame COVID for the loss of my sister. We hadn’t managed to speak much in the last couple of years but she was the glue that held our family together after we lost our parents. She was everything good in this world, with very few faults. This made it tough to call her, she was the best of us and I couldn’t talk to her without recognizing the cast of my own inadequacies.

She left us 3 weeks and 6 days ago and it wasn’t sudden or without suffering. Having no income or savings, I had no way to visit her when she needed me most. My brothers have their own lives and wives to deal with, and I had no desire to share my misfortune with them. We’ve always been competitive and I couldn’t bring myself to ask for their help nor do I think they would have had the luxury to do so.

The sale would provide me enough money to travel to Cali for her memorial, pay for her memorial expenses and help with some of the medical bills now left to her wife. This was the price to gain back some modicum of humanity in an attempt to offset the crippling guilt that consumed me.

The memorial lasted for more than 3 hours. There were eight hundred and thirty-three people in attendance which didn’t surprise me. Everyone gravitated to her. She was a modern day saint. The words spoken on her behalf, by the masses, are something that I won’t soon forget. She was enveloped in love by so many. She chose to spend her time and effort on those around her, while I spent my time focusing on superficial materialistic remedies. The juxtaposition couldn’t have been more pronounced.

The day after the memorial was spent at my sister’s house, with immediate family members only. Her wife let us go through some of her belongings to see if we wanted anything. I wasn’t anxious to take part in the endeavor and definitely didn’t feel deserving of any such token. Before my departure, her wife thanked me for my contribution to the memorial and the medical bills. She then presented me with a little black book and told me that my sister had asked her to give it to me.

Upon first glance, I noticed that the book was weathered and the spine was about to explode. When I opened it up, I immediately recognized the photo that was taped to the end paper. It was a picture of Dad and me in the Monte. I flipped through the pages in a cursory style and noticed that there was a picture on nearly every page. There were also notes under every picture with the date and the activity being performed or the particular event - I found my prom picture almost immediately. Upon further inspection I noticed varied handwriting and realized that, not only had my sister written in it, but so had my Mom and Dad. Reading their words brought me back to a a different time, a better time in my life without the guilt.

The Monte Carlo, “She”, had graced nearly every picture in the book. The effort and care to which this little black book had been assembled and annotated broke me into pieces. The love that I felt while reading its contents has never been surpassed. Everything that was important to me; my history, my dreams, my home, my family were in that book. Suddenly the loss of my most prized possession failed in comparison to this beautiful gift. My humanity had been restored. There is no price that could exceed the value of that gift.