A Love Letter to Charlie

Dear Charlie,

I don’t want to say goodbye to you but after you were flipped on your side by Mardi Gras revelers two weeks ago, the insurance company considers you totaled. Breaks my heart that one stupid prank ended our run. Note: my father-in-law is delighted by the news as he considers you a widow-maker and insists we find a safer vehicle for his future progeny. (Shoot, we’re not ready for kids… just got married a few months ago. Can’t we have a little time before the honeymoon ends?)

Charlie, you were my first car and there are things I'll never forget about our time together. You were more than just a vehicle. You were a way of life, quirks and all.

1. Your roof leaks if left under crepe myrtles too long. Those sticky pink flowers eat away at the cheap plastic vinyl covering, rotting it. You may not know this but crepe myrtles are invasive and destructive.

2. You were named for Steinbeck’s poodle in Travels with Charlie. I got you after graduation and dreamt of riding the blue highways, exploring America. Never happened to the extent of Steinbeck’s epic trip, but we had some adventures:

a. Driving the beaches of Corolla, NC, watching wild ponies graze

b. Camping in the Dolly Sods Wilderness in the Monongahela National Forest of West Virginia, hiking through dwarf rhododendrons, eating wild blueberries and exploring subalpine meadows.

c. Road-tripping to Mohican State park in central Ohio for white water rafting and mountain biking.

d. Day trips to and from work as a server at a café in Rocky River, Ohio. Early morning breakfast prep required I leave my apartment by 5:30 a.m. Summertime hours and you gave me the most spectacular sunrises, encouraging me to take Metro-Park detours just to experience more of morning’s glory before proofing muffins and making vats of hot coffee.

e. Driving down to New Orleans with my future husband-to-be, staying at LaQuinta and breakfast at Denny’s in Nashville with you stuffed to the brim with our life’s belongings. You could hold some stuff.

3. You housed a small family for a time. In 1990, I moved to Hyden, KY off the Daniel Boone Parkway to work as a literacy volunteer in the Appalachians. During those first few months, I didn't need you for transport, as the organization had vehicles for the volunteers. During your downtime, you generously took in a rodent family, just behind the engine. They built an elaborate nest using straw and loose threads from an old pink sweater. It was quite a cozy set-up, unfortunately you didn’t mention their occupancy. When I next drove, Micky Mouse and family were cooked to a crisp, their innards and pink sweater nest smeared everywhere. A week later, an invasive stench alerted me to the tragedy. It took a local mechanic three hours to scrape out the mess. We brought him a pile of homemade chocolate chip cookies as thank you. That’s when I learned about closing your vents, to keep more rascally critters from taking up residence.

4. You were always a dependable ride in all weather and across all types of terrain. You could drive through tight mountain passes and offroad to find my student’s wayward husband who’d gone off the deep end one afternoon. We found Eugene way up Camp Creek, loitering outside his family’s small cemetery… looking lost. Eugene was a Vietnam veteran and well, sometimes he’d just up and go off places. It drove his wife Melanie mad with worry. So you and I and Melanie went looking for him. We eventually brought him home, where he nestled back into his recliner in their trailer, happy to be home. Still not sure how he got so dang far up that mountain.

5. You helped save a life. I was tutoring Cinda Morgan, a student in her 70’s who wanted to learn to read so she could read the Bible to her grandbabies. Raleigh, her husband was a WW II veteran, full of stories and a wry sense of humor. He told me about the time he got chased by a rattlesnake when he was hoeing his garden and startled one. “That thing bounded after me, chasing me to the back door.” During my tutoring session with Cinda, Raleigh came in with a welt on his leg. He tried to brush it off, talking like this sorta thing happened all the time. The welt was enormous and growing. Turns out he got bit by a brown recluse spider. We got him to the outpost health clinic for treatment. On our next visit, Cinda gave me jars of homemade apple butter as thank you. And weeks later as late summer turned to fall, she invited me back for a day of learning to make apple butter. It’s a day I won’t soon forget.

6. One full moon night we went to see the elusive Moon-Bow at Cumberland Falls. On the night of a full moon, the reflection off the falls creates a moonbow that is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

7. You helped me surprise my parents over Christmas one year when I came home early to attend their annual holiday party. You took on the icy roads of northern Ohio and got me there safely.

8. You provided safe haven to a number of stray dogs we found wandering county roads across Ohio and Kentucky over the years we travelled together. Many of those dogs stayed with me or found a new home. One, I even named Charlie, after you.

To Charlie’s next owner: appreciate the adventures you’ll have with her. Keep her out from under weeping, flowering trees like those dastardly crepe myrtles. Get her cleaned now and then. Pull off the sunroof so she can feel the wind and sun on her seats and if you’re fortunate enough to be a passenger now and then, look out the windows. Roll ‘em down. Sorry, no fancy electric windows on her. Roll ‘em down and feel the wind on your face and watch the world go by. You won’t regret it.

Bye, Charlie. I’ll miss you.