Sally Suburban

My favorite car was, R.I.P, "Sally Suburban". She was an old diesel blue and silver Chevy 4wd Suburban Silverado. When you started her engine in the morning it sounded like a jet plane ready for flight. The diesel fuel didn't like the cold, so in the winter I had to plug in the glo-plugs each night... imagine, a vehicle with an electric cord hanging down from the front grill? That car drove me to Maine and back for years, and I always delighted in pumping gas in that 40 gallon tank along the big rigs on the highway truck stops.

She was dented and scratched so much that she was easy to find in the parking lot, and even more easy to recognize by the 20 or so Maine bumper stickers plastered on the back. Once when I was really, really broke and really, really late getting my tags renewed, all those bumper stickers saved me from a ticket as a cop followed me for miles, apparently reading the stickers.

By the end of our time together, she had a lot wrong: a back door that wouldn't open from the outside, so you'd have to reach through from the passenger side; no air conditioner (horrible in this SC humidity!); problems with leaking oil, so much so that an old friend of mine suggested that I "not park in his driveway"; and a penchant for blowing fuses.

The car loved me, I truly believe. I was the only one that could pop her hood...punching it "Fonzie-style", and if anyone else tried to work on her engine, they'd fail. In that big old car, we were safe from other vehicles as I learned how to drive on the highway all by myself, and the sheer size of the vehicle always allowed us plenty of room from little fancy cars that didn't dare get too close. Her looks always allowed me to see a person's true character, too, for if someone proclaimed her a cool car, they got instant acceptance...and those that turned up their nose at her were dismissed for being a snob.

For all her problems, and all my complaining about her, I cried when her engine finally died beyond repair. I still miss hoisting up into the driver's seat and driving with all the windows rolled down, playing music and singing along. She was sold for parts to a guy in Bishopville, and when I drove out there to retrieve the small check I got for her, I cried again. He shook his head, and said, "It's just a car, little lady." I guess he never really loved a vehicle.

The worst part is that I never bothered to get a good photo of the back with all the stickers. If Sally is still sitting out in the field at the junkyard, maybe I'll go buy that back panel...and hang it on the wall of my future barn as "art".