Um, let me clarify that. When I say that "we" reached that
inescapable conclusion, I mean "I."
It just so happened that Jessica's closest lifelong friend, Lana,
was visiting from
Texas the weekend we told ourselves that we would
make a decision between the two cars. Here in Washington, D.C., she
could have been visiting memorials or touring museums. But
Lana got
to do something truly special, and sit in our beat-up old
convertible's back seat while we drove to car dealerships. Do we
know how to show guests to the nation's capital a good time or
what?
We went first to the dealer that had the station wagon. I wasn't
just drawn to its sound. I liked its look. I don't know why. My
family had a wagon when I was growing up, and a wagon was the first
car I owned when I could drive. If a person buys a sporty car to
recapture youth, maybe he gets a station wagon to relive it.
Whatever the reason, while taking it for one last spin, I stopped
in a parking lot to give Jessica the wheel. When we got out, a
squeal came from the engine and the exhaust pipe belched a huge
blue cloud, backfired a few times, and shuddered. We got back in
the car and looked at each other. We had made a decision. Who cared
how good the stereo system was?
"Hey," Jessica said on the drive back to the dealer. "We forgot to
play a CD."
What possessed her to do what she did next remains a mystery to
this minute. She slipped in one of the CDs we brought along.
Immediately, all three of us were transported. We luxuriated in the
sound's sensual embrace. "This is better than the system in my
husband's $70,000 car," Lana said, which, for the record, is a
price more than three times what this one was going for.
My heart broke. I knew I had to give up this car, but I wasn't
ready to accept another.
"Jessica," Lana said. "I can't believe you did that."