In the End, Her Car Went Quietly

My wife finally became “plumb afoot.”

That was a phrase a cousin of mine from the Ozarks used many years ago to describe the plight of a man named Jackson, who worked for my father in Bakersfield. Jackson had a car that was always ailing, but he kept pushing it until one day he totaled it in an accident. Looking at the wreck, my cousin said, “Well, ol’ Jack’s plumb afoot now.”

My wife’s 10-year-old Maxima had finally refused to start. The Auto Club started it for her once, but as soon as she drove it any distance, when she was ready to return, it would not start again. She found that when the engine got cold it would start. But in her busy life that wasn’t good enough.

Recently, after many exhortations from me, she parked the Maxima in our garage and left it. In this way, she felt, she still possessed it. She loved that car. It was the first car she had ever owned. It had a sunroof that she loved to keep open, so she could feel the sun and the wind. It had a soft, built-in female voice that told her “Fuel level is low,” or “Right door is open.” It gave her a sense of security and companionship.

One by one things had gone wrong. My son took it into a garage once and found that it would cost more than $2,400 to repair it.

She had chosen to keep driving it in its precarious condition. Since I could no longer drive, my Honda Civic was available, but she preferred to drive her “baby.” Finally, she gave up and began to drive the Honda.

I don’t mean to suggest that the Maxima was not a good car. It was a fine car, but my wife had never taken very good care of it. She hadn’t learned to drive until she was in her 30s, and knew little about a car’s insides and its needs.

Gradually she had started to drive the Honda more and more, until it became evident that the Maxima was retired. She talked about trading it in on a new one, but never got around to it.

I urged her to get a Buick or an Oldsmobile, thinking American, but she was not persuaded. Finally she consulted a friend who is an expert on cars, and he recommended that she buy a Toyota Camry.

After that she looked for Camrys on the road, and every time we passed one she’d say, “There goes one,” and crane her head to keep it in sight.

I was reconciled to her choice. I began to think Camry too. I trusted our adviser, for one thing. I just hoped she would get it over with.

But she seemed reconciled to driving the Honda. After all, it was a very reliable car with only 30,000 miles on it.

Meanwhile, the Maxima languished in the garage, not getting any younger.

Finally, one day my wife told me she had gotten rid of the Maxima. Relieved, I asked her what she had done with it, thinking she had made a deal to trade it in on a Camry.

“I gave it to the Red Cross,” she said.

I can’t say I was surprised. She is always giving things to the Goodwill or making donations even to dubious charities.

I didn’t know what the Red Cross would do with an ailing Maxima, but that was their problem.

She said she would have to have the pink slip. I had no idea where it was. It was not in my file under “Cars” or “Maxima.” Then she remembered that when we remodeled I had put a lot of old files in the garage. She went down to the garage and rummaged around and finally found it in a “C” file. I was pleased by my foresight in filing the pink slip, which enabled us finally to end the Maxima dilemma.

But I realized that now we were down to one car, and I could no longer think of it as mine. “What are you going to do with it?” I asked. “Trade it in on a Camry?”

“Let’s not be hasty,” she said.

That means, of course, that she will continue to drive the Honda until it becomes inoperable and must be retired, like the Maxima, to the garage.

When the day came for the Red Cross to come pick up the car, my wife took the day off and stayed home. She doesn’t like to leave me alone in the house when things are happening.

I asked her how the Red Cross was going to pick up the car if it wouldn’t start. “They’re bringing a tow truck,” she said.

In the middle of the afternoon they came. I heard the tow truck and realized that that was the end of the Maxima. My wife did not cry. She cries at weddings, but otherwise she sheds few tears.

I didn’t cry either.