Why I Don't Have A Car--Part 1

There's nothing politically correct, or radically environmentalist about it. It is not because I might be a solitary visionary crazy woman who spends too much time talking to the spirits. I don't have a car because I can't afford a car. I don't have a car because I would rather have my own house than have a car. It has been 3 years since I acknowledged that fact, with true relief. But events also precipitated that action of giving up the car. I probably would not have had the courage to have simply done it on my own.

I called the car Fred. Fred Escort, a humble hardworking 1993 Ford station wagon, silver grey. Fred was faithful. Fred ferried us everywhere we needed to go. Fred never broke down and left us stranded. Fred's starter had quit awhile back, and the Vampyr had rigged up this massive mess of wire and duct tape on the dashboard near the driver's side door. I had to put the 2 ends of the wires together to create a spark every time I started Fred. I covered the mess with a towel so no one, like a cop, would see it. The last time I got the car inspected, the local mechanic who did it for me, a bit of an outlaw himself, said, "If you get pulled over, those wires were not there when I inspected this car."

It was a deal.

Fred also had bad seat belts. When I had first left the farm, I was working for some silversmiths who had a studio in their house, and I would bring Little Bear to work with me, but he stayed out in the car all day. I'd open the back hatch so he could hop in and out. He was still a pup and he got bored. He chewed up most of the shoulder harnesses. The one on the driver's side had a big knot tied in it but was still usable. I myself was always a scofflaw in regard to seat belt use. By which I mean, I didn't use them as a rule. (I grew up in the free wheeling 70's--who uses belts? Who wears helmets? Sissies, that's who!) Anyway, I made my daughter use it, however, and had rigged it so the driver's side shoulder harness reached over to her side.

Okay, it is an afternoon in late October, 3 years ago, and I was having a bad day. I needed to get to the supermarket, and the car needed gas. I ran down back to the shed and got the gas can for the lawnmower and put what little gas was left in that into the car's tank. I had exactly $2.87 in my wallet, and now that there was something more than fumes in the gas tank, I could make it down the hill to the gas station where I would put that $2.87 worth into the tank.

That accomplished, I pulled back out into the road to go to the market. My daughter was with me. We got to the light where I would take a left to head on over the bridge, and the light turned yellow. I went for it. I turned the corner. I looked in my rear view mirror, and yes, there was a state trooper behind me, in his big blue car with his big red lights on telling me to pull over. I was not having a good day. I quickly put on the lap belt, pulled to the side near the old canal, then reached around and grabbed the towel from the floor behind me. I threw it over the mess of wires on the dash and then dug out my license and registration.

He really did swagger over to the car, and he really looked both Fred and me over with a disdainful sneery face, like maybe we were some kind of trash. He told me I ran the red light. I told him it was yellow. He asked me why I did not have on a shoulder harness. I told him it was broken and I could not afford to get it fixed, but pointed out to him that I was wearing the lap belt. He took my documents and strutted back to his car. I actually sat there thinking he might show me some mercy. Kind of like a kid believing in fairy tales. Kind of like a desperate woman having a very bad day and hoping it won't actually get worse even though it looks like it's gonna.

I got a ticket for running a red light and for not having proper seat belts. He told me that if I got the belts repaired and came to court with proof of that, that charge might be dropped. He wasn't nice. He did look at me like I was some sort of old hippie woman garbage, in my rusting old Ford. I took the ticket, thinking, "Oh yes, you will see me in court.'

I am many things but I try not to be a fool. I do not need to piss away what little money I have on traffic tickets. That light was yellow. That cop was an asshole. Yes, he would see me again in court.

And that, my friends, is another story.

Until next time, I remain, your friend, Rozenkraai