Humor - Moon River
Posted: Sunday, November 23, 2008
by John Brazell
My first car was a '39 Mercury clunker that my grandfather gave me when I was fifteen. It wasn't a perfect car.
A couple of small holes had rusted through the roof near the front passenger side which on a clear day offered a glimpse of the sky through the threadbare headliner. Whoever sat there got an occasional drip when it rained which was hardly noticed once I shifted into second gear and the smoke started up through the floorboard. It was the only car in the northern hemisphere and parts of Texas that used more oil than gas.
After lots of miles on the roads and even more on me, I'm now driving another car with a hole in the roof, this one put there on purpose. It was on the car that I liked and the salesman tossed it in for free (yeah right). Maybe he should have taken something off the price. I'd go back and haggle but the car is several years old.
You probably know more about the pleasures of open-air driving than I do, which wouldn't have to be much. On the whole, what I've experienced is a compelling urge to throw things out. I've opened it a few times mostly to amuse the grandkids and haven't lost either of them, yet.
I'm not sure if it's a sun or moon roof, as I don't know the difference, or if there is a difference. Not that it matters as it's possible to commune -- if that's what you do -- with either of the big bright celestial balls that hover overhead. An interior panel pushes back to expose a tinted glass cover barely large enough for Twiggy to wriggle through.
Exercising owner's privilege, I call it a moon roof since my inner child coincidentally fifteen - thinks it would be a hoot to "moon" the high school principal or English teacher, or any teacher from atop the car. Not that I ever would. Now if the IRS were close by . . .
Hold on, here's the big story.
There's been no rain in Austin for eight months, right? Morning dew falls like talcum powder ... water is scarcer than American beer ... fish are drinking from plastic bottles. Rain still happens, just not in Burnt Orange Town . There is truth to the rumor that Austin could have UT Coach Mac Brown or rain but not both. Mac is still here . . . and I have drifted.
We were miles away on annual pilgrimage to find the Holy Grail -- hillside clusters of trees, bushes and shrubs turned red, yellow, gold and rust, or any color but green. Then the rains came; a monsoon, a tsunami, a county wide Niagara Falls .
It was a frightful evening as we drove to the theatre. I dropped her off (allowed her to depart) near the entrance and fumbled for my flimsy push-button umbrella, my lifeline through the deluge. It was the difference between living and death by drowning, the first casualty ever, on the flat surface of a parking lot. I owe my life to a Tote.
The rain continued as we left the theatre. I picked her up at the exit and opened the car door -- she was mostly dry until she got into the car.
Six months ago, I opened the Moon Roof for the grandchildren and almost closed it. There are lots of bells and whistles on this car, none of which tells you the hole in the roof is open. In that respect it's not much different from the '39 Mercury.
: )
Post nose-al drip: She now says I'm unfit to drive her topless car.
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)Hi John.Great story and well presented. Didn't have any idea where you were going with this, but stayed because the ride was nice. I loved the surprise ending.DianneDianne,Glad you enjoyed the story -- and thanks for taking the time to write. When you are as old as I am, there's no need to make up stories. One simply segues into another. I'm a humorist and never quite know how to categorize by subject. Perhaps this should be "Medicinal" as laughter, particularly at one's self, is still the best medicine.John Brazell
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