In 2003 or 2004 I bought this bitchin' 1975 BMW sports coupe. Pristine condition, silver hardtop that purred like a million Raquel Welches lining up to suck my dick. Got it for a song and $3000. I didn't care that the gas mileage might be bad (turned out it was okay). I didn't care that the only serious repair shop charged up the ass (got one of their super sportsters for the two days I had to leave it overnight and probably did more damage to that than I did to mine).
I had a touring 1975 BMW that was gorgeous (turned the heads of two high school girls once until they actually saw me) and smooth, sleek, sexy and stately.
I mean I rocked in this beast. It weighed almost 2000 pounds. Solid steel. Get in an accident with me and your SUV would pay for it. If it made contact and didn't just roll right over. But you know what I mean.
I've had other cool cars. I had an old Fiat Spider that was the shit. Run over a puddle and the sparks would give out, causing me to pull over and wait for them to dry so I could start the car again. The convertible roof leaked, but who cared? It was a Fiat and I had short hair.
I had a 1969 VW bus that looked like it had been rolled through a breadmaker and painted by the Mary Kay Commandos. It only leaked oil through the oil pan when I was driving uphill. And it only didn't start when it was an absolute emergency.
After all of these cool cars I remember the VW best, because of its driveability. And I remember the Fiat best for its because it got me sex. Lots and lots of sex.
But the BMW...I remember it best, because it's the car that made an old woman feel like a princess.
For 20 minutes. For one ride. From her house to the church. She rode in the back and saw life anew and marvelled in how much a simple ride in a pretty car could make her feel young again. She saw houses she hadn't seen before. She noticed trees and flowering bushes she hadn't before.
She giggled and pointed and preened. She felt like a princess and I have no doubt saw the throngs lined up on the side of the road to wave to her, because this was her ride and her moment and her time.
As much as she caused me no end of consternation, frustration and heartache in the years both before and after I will always remember that day, that ride and that beautiful woman remembering and living a moment she may never have had until then.
Others will, no doubt, have more memories and closer ones. I will have only that one. And it will carry her (in my heart) into Heaven or what she and I consider Heaven to be. Because I will miss that cantankerous old witch. May she smell lavender all the way there. And may her son live through this and know the relief that eventually will come.