The Mysterious Miata

I never wanted a Miata. It found me in a parking lot at a rest stop near Pittsburgh. A red one, hard top, shiny, unlocked. The keys were under the driver's mat and a note lay on the seat: "to open the gas tank pull the lever in the console compartment. I got in. The steering wheel was leather, the gearshift wood. It had outlived any new-car smell. There were remnants of its former occupants: a packet of kleenex, a comb, and a pen for recording the gas mileage in the center compartment; gloves, the registration, insurance, and another note in the glove compartment. "The Miata Wave. If you see another Miata coming, push the button under the hazard lights on the dash to open and shut the headlights." Five gears plus reverse. A full tank of gas--another note: "You can use regular!" I was ready to go. vroom vroom. It actually does sound like that. I was off. It took me home.

Later I determined that the Miata was female. I named her Sheherazade. We were both middle-aged. We bonded. I adorned her with cow-print seat covers from Wal-mart--to protect her from dog hair--then added a black harness and "doggles" for my boxer Latte. She made people smile and point. Strangers took pictures. I smiled too when I drove her, as I composed the narrative of each drive: top up or down, hard or soft, her performance and mileage, a droll anecdote, the number of Miatas we had seen, and if I had remembered to "wave" with the lights.

That was important to the caller, the details. When he called each night, he reminisced: how they had first met, where they had traveled together, how she was special (one of the first sold in the US!) He offered tips on how to drive her, nagged me to change the oil, predicted which part might need replacing, specified the brand of wax she preferred. He was incensed that I had "desecrated her" by using those seat covers and appalled that strangers laughed at us. He threatened each time to come to Massachusetts and steal her back while I was out. I protested and cajoled and thought up horrible scenarios of revenge, should he do that.

But I knew I was safe. My brother had Parkinson's Disease and had lost his license for the time being.

Northampton, August 2004