When my mom and biological father got divorced, he went off to Vietnam, and she left California for Virginia with me and my year and a half old little sister. Up to that point, the only vehicle I’d ever known was their giant white station wagon named Bessy. By the time we got to Virginia, my newly single mom was tootling around in a Volkswagen Bug, the backseat of which my imaginary Martian friend, Geeko, lived. No idea where the Bug came from or what happened to Bessy. We lived in a rental house in Alexandria for about a year, and then moved to the 16^th floor of an apartment building in Silver Spring, MD. Somewhere along the way, the Bug also disappeared (along with Geeko) and my mom acquired a 1963 Buick Skylark convertible that looked just like the picture above, black ragtop and all. I have no idea how mom ended up with that car, or why, except her family had now grown to three little girls under the age of six and the Bug was just no longer an effective means of transportation.  

The Buick was named Mandy and was the key to mom’s new-found freedom. Except Mandy was always breaking down. Somewhere along the way, mom found a service manager at a Dodge dealership in Alexandria who took a liking to her, and was willing to cut her deals on Mandy’s many repairs. Every weekend, you would find the three of us girls in the backseat of Mandy, flying down the new interstate to Virginia Beach with the top down. No seatbelts. We always stayed at the same broken-down hotel, and played in the same pool, while mom spent a lot of time talking to the same man. You know what they say: it’s all fun and games until someone gets married without telling his mother. Wait. They don’t say that? Well, they should.

Turns out, that man was the service manager and they were meeting in Virginia Beach every weekend because he couldn’t figure out how to tell his mother that he intended to marry this wild divorcée and take on her ready-made family. Having come from good Iowan stock, he was pretty sure this would be highly frowned upon. And he was right. (see https://only-an-egg.com/2022/04/17/families-are-complicated-pt-1/).  His widowed mom had never lived on her own her entire life, and if he moved us in – she would have to be moved out. So, by necessity their courtship took place 200 miles away.

We always came home from the beach after dark on Sunday nights. Mom worked for an insurance company at the time, and had to be at work bright eyed and bushy-tailed on Monday mornings. Mom usually kept the ragtop down in warm weather. I think she loved the feel of the wind on her face. But one night in particular, she left the top up. I don’t know why. Maybe it was raining when we left. Maybe it was just a cool night. I just remember the top being closed because I was excited to be able to hear the radio. I always tried to stay awake for the trip home, but inevitably the wind and exhaustion from a weekend of heavy pool play would knock each of us out, one by one.

But on this night, with Mandy’s top firmly in place, I could hear the radio. The announcer was talking about a new highway construction project that would finally connect Washington DC to the new I-81. Bits and pieces of it already existed but protests from local residents kept preventing it from being completed. I know now that he was referring to I-66, which ironically enough is the interstate I have lived within 5 miles of for the last thirty-nine years. But back then, it was just an interesting story about the future.

Suddenly, Mom screamed and we ran off the road, Mandy spinning in circles. I have no recollection of what caused the accident, I only remember mom sobbing “My babies! My babies!!” and pulling us out of the car one-by-one to make sure we were okay. A policeman stopped to check on us, and she just kept thanking God there was a wide, grass-covered shoulder for her to run off the road. The officer pointed out that it was good thing that the top was in place when we started spinning. And that was the end of our flying down the highway with the top down.

Mom married dad within months of that accident. And while Mandy stuck around for several years into the marriage, the joy of her was gone. She simply became our escape pod whenever it was time to leave dad. Her shiny bronze paint job faded with the marriage, rusty spots began appearing on her edges and bumpers. And one day, she was just gone. Like Bessy the station wagon. Like the Bug. We just came home to from school one day and found a big-ass full-sized van where Mandy once sat. I get the appeal of that van; it was not only big enough to haul us three girls and all our friends, but it could also protect all of us in case of another accident. So, I get it. Really.

But I missed Mandy and that brief Camelot-like time in our lives… When it was just the four of us, flying down the highway with the top down and no seatbelts. She was the only car I ever truly mourned.