XII: In Which I Prepare to Say Goodbye to an Old Friend, and Wonder Whether I Haven't Made a Big Mistake

I have a capacity for embarrassing sentimentality. Just the other night I was watching The Perils of Pauline, a straight-off-the-cob, entirely fictionalized biopic of Pearl White that wouldn't be worth watching even a little if not for the presence of Betty Hutton and William Demarest, when, improbably, I started to get a little misty as Betty Hutton sang "The Sewing Machine" because it reminded me that an affinity for Hutton's zaniness is something my future ex and I share. It was a weird moment--imagine crying during an episode of I Love Lucy to understand just how inappropriate and unsettling this outburst was.

So forgive me for waxing nostalgic for Donny, my 2001 Ford Focus whom I am ready to hand off to another owner. Donny isn't just the first new car I ever owned; he is the first car I ever owned, period, the result of 20 years' residence in a city in which a car is very much a liability. You know how it is with the first one, right? And Donny was a great car who not only carted me around the Triangle but also allowed me to explore such exotic destinations as Myrtle Beach, Pittsburgh, Atlanta, Lewes DE, Pikesville MD, and Montclair NJ. Donny was no snob; he would go anywhere I needed him to and never groused.

Donny was also an indicator of my grudging transition from itinerant just-scratching-by musician to responsible head-of-the-household husband who just might be a father someday, maybe. I bought him just one month after my future ex and I bought our house, another signifier of that same life change, and Donny helped me embrace my inner grownup at the same time that he added another of those monthly payments that sometimes seem to define grownup life. He was a beloved anvil. I grieved the day I stupidly slid off the road and dinged up his left rear fender, dutifully duct taped shut his rear window after the automatic opener decided that open should be a permanent setting, and celebrated the day I made my last payment on him, confident that Donny and I would travel many, many more miles together. That was a little over two years ago.

Lately, though, Donny's been showing signs of his 145,000 logged miles. On a trip to and from New Jersey last month, he hesitated repeatedly when I asked him to giddyup. On a subsequent trip to Atlanta the power failures grew more frequent and more dramatic, to the point that Donny would just decide he needed to take a little rest right there in the middle of I-85. A gearhead buddy of mine listened patiently as I described Donny's problem, said it sounded like an electrical thing, and asked when I had last changed Donny's battery, an impossible question to answer. After smacking me several times about the head he recommended a new battery, which I installed. Still, with vacation at the Delaware shore approaching, I seriously considered renting a car for the trip. I mean, what if it wasn't the battery? Did I really want to deal with a breakdown on my way to the beach? And then I realized that the rental would cost about the same as my first month's payment on a new car, and I knew it was time for me and Donny to part ways.

I've known this moment was coming for a while, so I'd been doing my research and had narrowed my choices down to two. If my pockets were feeling deep and my soul feeling mid-life crisis-y, I'd be getting a Mini Cooper. If I was feeling practical, I'd get a Hyundai Elantra, a small sedan that looks an awful lot like Donny and that received a similarly strong recommendation from Consumer Reports (which recommendation had helped me decide on Donny back in '01). As luck would have it, Hyundai was offering a $1500 rebate on their '08 Elantras, which, in combination with Costco's no-haggle price, resulted in an irresistibly low price.

I bought the car last weekend. The dealer offered to take Donny in trade, but I knew they wouldn't care for him and love him in the way he deserves. On the contrary, I imagined them driving Donny to an open field and stripping him down and covering him with honey and then sitting in lawn chairs and drinking beer and watching fire ants devour him and laughing and laughing and laughing. So instead I offered Donny to a friend whose car is even less dependable than Donny is. We've settled on an installment plan that is contingent upon Donny's continued operation: $100 every two months until eight months or Donny have expired. Donny will be in good hands.

Because I left on a business trip the next day, I didn't have the opportunity to drive the Elantra until this weekend. After taking it for several spins, I've found much to love about it. It's a cool little car. It handles well and is plenty powerful. It comes with XM Radio and a CD player that plays mp3s and the stereo sounds fine. It has cruise control; it, a stereo, and air conditioning are the only options I care about.

There is, however, one problem, one I discovered today only by accident. The windshield wipers don't work. This is frequently not a problem at all, but when it is a problem--when it's raining, say--it's a doozy. I'm glad I discovered it during a non-problem period. I spoke with someone at the dealership today and cannot say that he was as anxious to see this problem fixed as I was. He acted as though it was no big deal that I had a brand new car that wouldn't currently pass inspection, and my warm fuzzy feeling about our haggle-free negotiations dissipated. It looks as though I'll be spending Monday morning at the dealership's service center rather than on the road to the Delaware shore, and I will no doubt be worrying that I've been stuck with a lemon for months to come, as I am definitely a glass-half-empty guy when it comes to big purchases.

My friend wants to collect Donny tomorrow, but what can I do? I may need him to get to Delaware. Maybe I should rent a car.

So there you go.

PS I have not yet named the Elantra. It would never have occurred to me to name my car, but my future ex-wife named her cars and it made me feel as though I was neglecting Donny by failing to name him, so name him I did. I'm considering Walter, Smoky, Maude, and Karl Hungus. Any suggestions?

PSS Turns out the guys at the plant forgot to plug the windshield wipers in. A relief, although it has me wondering what else they "forgot." The car was a dream on the trip to and from Delaware. Two days after I got home a pebble cracked the windshield. Walter is cursed, there's no doubt about it.