Smart Car
by Doug Hawley
16: Unification
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When I went out to the
garage to visit Carl/a, he (“he” was in
buddy mode, rather than gal pal), he intuited
what was in the back of my mind. “Beach
trip?”
“You bet. Stop at Camp 18. Check
out Seaside and Cannon Beach?”
Carl said “Let It Rock” followed by
singing the Chuck Berry classic leading into a
medley of Chuck’s greatest, something like
Bob Seger’s. God, I wish that I
could sing like Carl/a. When he’s
Carla, she does a great Aretha. There
was a time; long past, that I was the best
entertainer in the world. The Viking
Rappers, Country Psychos and all of the top
groups in the country opened for me. Then
an alien worm named Mick dropped out of my nose
and told the world that he had been doing the
singing.
The trip of over two hundred miles was no problem. Carl
and I are both old enough to remember when
electric cars were somewhat limited, making trips
of two hundred miles difficult. We are
fortunate that Libertarian president Spenser was
flexible enough to bend his stand against
subsidies, which is why all major highways are
electrified. His gamble turned out
successfully, because all of the loans to the
contractors were paid back. Producing
adequate electricity has come from a number of
sources, tidal, geothermal and hydro. Carl
and I laugh every time cold fusion is said to be
five years away. It has been five
years away for the last fifty years.
Along the way we saw sites that go back fifty
years of so - old houses and a few logging trucks. As
always, we enjoyed our stop at Camp 18, a
restaurant and logging museum, so named for being
18 miles from the Coast. Carl got a
chance to hang out with the parked cars, while I
went in to eat. Usually I went with
Sheila and split a meal, but I made the mistake
of eating a meal by myself. I had to
recline the seat in Carl for the rest of the trip. Carl
told me that most of the cars that he talked to
were from out of state and had the same old
complaints about being unable to move here. Ever
since the Oregon party gained ascendancy in the
state, it was very difficult for anyone from out
of state to move in because of zoning. Even
before that happened, the Republican Party had
been reduced to a few cranks, and the Democratic
– Union Party had been repudiated for its
corruptions, scandals and general incompetence
that follow from absolute power. Carl
also had a little time for flirting with a car
that was from Lake Oswego like us.
In contrast to the Coast Range, the beach was
rearranged before either of us was, born in my
case, built in Carla’s case. The
tsunami of 2020 changed the beach and destroyed
much of the housing. The location and
specifications for the new houses was much less
interesting, but necessary. The
painting on Soviet style architecture was like
putting lipstick on a pig, it didn’t hide
the strictly utilitarian houses.
Carl dropped me off in Seaside and I did the
usual tourist things – aquarium, Promenade,
buying some knickknacks, a ride on the Carousel (even
though I’m a bit old), some life shortening
cotton candy and getting some rides at the
amusement park. The local thrift store
has some real finds- some antique music from the
most popular Oregon group, Slash featuring Eagle
Grant, and an old book about the legendary Mike
and Rebecca. Grant rivaled the iconic
Elvis Presley and outlasted him by forty years
through clean living. An old folktale
has it that Rebecca had the secret of eternal
youth, but gave it up for the love of Mike.
On the way back, Carl became Carla and sang some
of the best songs of the twentieth century by her
idols, Aretha Franklin, Pat Benatar and Sheryl
Crow. I had the good sense to listen
with my eyes shut. Carl/a thoughtfully
suggested that we rap a bit, trading verses so I
could participate:
Across the stream
Like a dream
Wanted to leave home
It was time to roam
Better than a show
We go with the flow
Lunch was the best
You hair’s a rat’s nest
I’ll spare you the whole half hour this
continued. Carl/a was better at
rapping as well as singing because of his greater
vocabulary.
Back home we had a double date, me with Sheila
and Carl with her ride Josie. Carl/a
was always Carl when he was with Josie because
she was a totally straight female car. After
some reticence on her part, they had become quite
the couple. They had been together
long enough to know that they needed to stay a
mile away from humans other than Sheila and
myself while they were involved with intimate
acts. Cars in the act make the loudest,
scariest noises.
Sheila and I had had enough problems of our own,
mostly due to my insecurity. As a
short mathematician, I’m totally in awe of
her talents and accomplishments. She
never trades on her relation to a president of
the last century, possibly because of her shame
at his foolish invasion of the Middle East. Sheila
is bright, beautiful and is a part of the popular
musical group Whimsy. She has a hobby,
which is to my knowledge, unique. She
owns a 1969 Charger like General Lee in the
twentieth century program “The Dukes Of
Hazzard”. I don’t think that
there are any other twentieth century cars
outside of museums. She found a way to
cloak it so that it appeared like all the other
smart cars. Sheila is not to blame for
my feelings of inferiority; my feeling is based
on reality. Sheila has always treated
me well. I attempted to increase my
self esteem by joining Short Hombres Owed Respect
Today – SHORT – but that organization
fell apart.
We are getting along well despite my neuroses. We
are definitely doing better than hologram star
Chris Mapother and all of his taller ex-wives
picked out for him by the cult Brainology. Beau
D. Holley’s therapy book “Here”
was also a lot of help, but I really don’t
want to be shrunk, I’m short enough as it is.
Carl and I made an exception to my aversion to
therapy with Dr. Box. He helped us
after Carl made and attempt on my life due to my
neglect in our relationship.
My date with Sheila did not go as well as Carl’s
with Josie. Sheila had to leave early
before things got to the fun stage and fun with
Sheila is a lot of fun. She said that
she had some important arranging to do that
couldn’t wait. She seemed
completely distracted. Carl came home
humming and singing to himself, totally self-involved. It
appears that my formerly innocent buddy is doing
a lot better than I am at romance.
The next day at the mall where I had gone for
broccoli nuggets at McVegetable, I saw Sheila
with a guy. When she saw me, she said
“Oh, hi Duke, this is my, uh, brother Dewey.”
Despite my suspicions, I introduced myself, and
said “I’d like to stay and chat, but I’ve
got a math project I’ve got to work on.”
Why suspicious? Her body language and
introduction indicated that she was covering up
some secret. The clincher may have
been that her “brother” looked nothing
like her. He could be her brother, but she
had never mentioned one before. They
had different hair color and eyes. She
has a model’s body; he is short and a bit
dumpy.
After seeing them, I dropped into a deep funk,
thinking of all of my failed romances before
Sheila. Despite my insecurity with her,
I had thought that she was really the one. I
was amazed that she seemed to love me despite all
of my imperfections. Now I expected
that I would be dumped again.
Or would I? I thought of all of the
fictional treatments of “he’s my
brother / cousin / boss or whatever”. Had
it ever turned out well? Not that I
could remember.
The next day Sheila called up and said “Hey,
I wasn’t too friendly the last time we went
out. Let me treat tonight.” She
couldn’t see me smile with joy and relief. I
must have let my insecurity give me the jitters. She
still likes me.
Sheila picked me up and sprung her surprise. We
went to the antique drive-in and saw the
inspirational “Loves of a Mathematician”. We
were inspired to retreat to the backseat and
relive our youthful night moves. I
felt like a smitten kid again.
The next day I was down in the dumps again. The
advice column on my Mindphone™ started with
“How do you know he/she is cheating –
rule 1 he/she alternates distraction and passion.” That
was a perfect description of Sheila the last few
days. I couldn’t avoid the
evidence that Sheila had another guy.
Shortly thereafter Sheila invited me to lunch. She
bubbled happily “I’ve got big news and
I’m taking you to lunch. I’m
sorry that I deceived you about Dewey, but I’ll
tell you the truth at lunch.” At
that point I wondered if the Sheila that I knew
could be so cruel as to be so happy about hurting
me.
At lunch she cut to the chase “Meet YOUR
brother Dewey. He wanted to hold off
telling you until he had checked with me on how
you would take it. I told him that you
would be overjoyed to find a long lost brother.” After
saying that she gave me a look which I am certain
was saying “Don’t make a liar out of me.”
Dewey took over. “I’m going
to have to set the stage for this thing. If
I sound like I’m reading a speech, it is
because telling you about this took a lot of
preparation. Back in the neo-puritan
period, childbirth before marriage was viewed as
a horrible sin. Our parents had me
before they were married and were unprepared
financially and mentally for a kid. They
gave me up for adoption. My adoptive
parents were great, but I wanted to know about my
biological parents. When I met them,
they told me about my younger brother, you, that
arrived after they were married and ready for
parenthood. While looking for you, I
found Sheila house-sitting at your place while
you were at the coast with Carl. I
decided to find out how you would receive me from
her.”
During that short speech, I think that I may have
set the record for a slack jawed gawp. Once
my brain re-engaged, it hit me: He
doesn’t resemble her, he resembles a
slightly older me.
Because I had not reacted for a long time, Sheila
spoke up “I don’t know if you are
conscious Duke, but if you can hear me, think
about this – wouldn’t Dewey be your
perfect best man at our wedding?”
I love a happy ending, don’t you?
As well as being an episode in the “smart
car” series, this story references the
Vernonia Trilogy” (Spenser, Here and Eagle),
“Old”, “Nose”, and “Californication”.
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