A wife's Dart is her husband's Demon and other such life lessons.

I heard today on the radio that a woman called the Sheriff's department because she thought someone was doing a drive by shooting near her house. It turned out it was only the neighbor working on his car. He was trying to fix it so it wouldn't backfire anymore. I can sympathize with the neighbor who had the shot gun blast decibel backfiring car.

It reminded me of 17 years ago when Jason and I were still newly weds. He had a little red truck which was a standard. I had never successfully driven a standard,but when we moved my belongings to our new apartment I drove the little pick up and he drove the moving truck. Even though the moving truck was an automatic; it was huge, so I managed to convince myself that it would be best to drive the smaller vehicle and that the only way to learn to operate a standard was to just jump in and do it. I ended up getting stranded in the middle of a busy intersection- lurching and stopping, lurching and stopping, eyes blurry from tears, frantic sobbing bursts escaping my lips, wiping the snot from my nose with my right arm while intermittently using it grab the stick shift as everyone was stopping with squealing brakes and slamming on their horns. I slowly made it out of the intersection. (It might be a good time to mention that the pick up was still decorated from the wedding reception so in bright red paint on the back window a huge pair of lips was painted with the words, "Hot Lips".) It took at least a few dozen lurches and stops to make it all the way through the intersection. 'Inch by inch, life is a cinch.' Whatever! Whoever made up that little rhyme never tried driving a standard pick-up with red hot lips on the back window through an intersection full of impatient, unsympathetic people.

My parents took pity on me and let me take the car they had let me use in high school. It had its quirks, but it and I were old friends, so I could manage driving it. I thought we had an understanding, that car and I. Until it started backfiring almost every time that I turned off the ignition. Sometimes it happened right after I turned off the key, sometimes it waited until I was several yards away. Sometimes it didn't happen at all. Everywhere I went, I was on pins and needles waiting for the sound of the blast echoing throughout everyone's ears. I was still young enough to measure my self-esteem based on what others thought of me, so the embarrassment of a car that sounded like a shotgun blast at random and unpredictable times was almost too much to bear.

Finally it got to the point where it was going to make its ear splitting blast every time the ignition was turned off. It was a little easier to deal with once it began to be a predictable event. I would kill the ignition, have enough time to get out of the vehicle and take a few steps away from it, wait for the deafening KAPOW!, then join with all the bystanders by looking around with a startled expression and participating with them in their exclamations of, "What was that?, Was that a gun?" It got to be pretty fun, actually. However, I did use wise judgment with my job. Since it required me to use my vehicle to take the daily deposits to the bank and make change orders, I would leave the car running while I went inside. I didn't think it would be wise to make gunfire sounds at a bank.

While I thought it great fun to cause people to jump and duck for cover every time I went for an outing, my dad realized the severity of our situation when he came to visit and took the car out to experience what I was talking about, so he would know how to fix it. He and Jason went to a parking lot in a not so lovely area of town, killed the ignition waited a few seconds to see if I had just been imagining the volume of the noise, jumped when they heard it and then heard "Drive by!" being shouted as he saw a group of young men hit the ground.

It turned out that it was going to cost a small fortune to fix it and it was becoming a safety issue to drive it for obvious reasons so I was forced to learn to drive the standard truck. With no other options, I got it figured out. I took the long, less traveled backroads anywhere I went to avoid traffic which worked out okay until I ended up on a steep incline of a hill with a red light in an unfamiliar area. Finally after three cycles of the light and countless horn blasts from behind me, I made it through the light. This time I didn't feel the level of humiliation that only having bright red hot lips on the back window can bring, so I gave out many angry and bold curses at the people honking behind me. I felt pride for getting the hang of driving a standard and guilty for cursing the people who only wanted to go when the light was green. The guilt outweighed the pride so I never cursed another driver again. Okay. . . I never cursed another driver who didn't deserve it again.

We kept that truck for several years. Then Jason's brother was given a 1972 Dodge Dart Demon to drive. I fell in love with that car and his brother was embarrassed to drive it so we traded. I got a baby blue Dart to drive around, which by the way was a column shift standard, and was never so proud to drive anything. I would lovingly refer to it as the little, old Dart. We ended up selling it though, much to my disappointment. It got to the point where we were pouring money into it randomly trying to fix things because it kept dying whenever Jason drove it to work. It would always give out on him at the same intersection everyday and he would have to push it while everyone was honking because they were missing their turn to go through the light. I wasn't bothered by it because on the rare occasion when it happened to me I always had someone who would offer to help give me a push, so I could pop the clutch to get it started again. Then I would give the helper a thank you wave and honk as I continued through. Jason was never so lucky with the offers to push so he referred to the car as That Demon in a contemptuous tone, and listed it for sale.

Selling it was the wise financial thing to do, but I was torn about letting it go. We sold it to an older man who was a retired mechanic so he was going to be able to fix it up nicely which was good to know. When he and his wife came to look at it, Jason wasn't around so I showed it to them. When it wouldn't start, I told the potential buyer that if he could give me a push I could get it running by popping the clutch. He looked doubtful, but the little, old Dart didn't let me down because it started right up on the first clutch pop and the grandpa aged man told me he was very impressed that I could drive a car that was older than I was. His wife told me that she had never been able to figure out how to pop clutch start a car. It's as though the car was giving me one last chance to take pride in myself. They came back a few days later to purchase the car and take it to a better home.

I still longingly think about the little, old Dart and the pride in myself I felt whenever someone would ask if they could drive it, to which I would reply that they could if they knew how to drive a standard. The men in my age group would always give me a confident, "Sure I can." as if I was stupid for even considering that they couldn't drive anything that had wheels. Then I enjoyed watching as the confusion would crawl up their faces as they tried to figure out how it could have a clutch, but no shift stick. I loved telling them, "It's a three on the tree. Don't you know how to drive a three on the tree?" in a tone like I was born knowing how to drive a standard and couldn't believe that they couldn't figure it out. They would have never been able to guess that just a few years before I was sitting in an intersection blubbering like a baby, with my teeth rattling on every lurch and stop that a hot lips decorated standard was giving me.

Maybe life isn't a cinch, inch by inch. But if inch by inch is how one learns to drive a standard, it certainly makes a confident woman who, to this day, gets a little boastful around anyone who can drive only an automatic. And thanks to That Demon I get a tad bit arrogant if someone doesn't know how to pop a clutch and downright brash when I come across a man who has no idea how to manage a three on the tree. But the humility returns the instant I think about having to drive a car with giant hot lips painted on the back window. Those cars taught me the life lesson about finding the delicate balance between self assertive pride and humility. For that I am grateful. Jason is just glad he doesn't have to look at That Demon everyday anymore or have a wife that drives a car that inflicts the terror of drive by's wherever she goes.