She went by many names.
Black Beauty
La Muerte Negro
The Fifth Horse of the Apocalypse
The Most Uncomfortable Bed
Holy-Fucking-Christ-Are-We-Still-Alive-mobile
The list goes on…
But to me, she’s always be Willie’s Car.
She was simply my “Car.” I’m aware that most people will give their car a cute or playful name. That’s fine for normal cars but this was not just any car. Is the “Sun” too simple of a name for our life giving star? Is “Earth” not just some fancy word for dirt? We’ve all agreed to call our space rock, home to every human who has ever lived, as simply “Earth.” No one is going around looking to change the names of the two most important, life sustaining, items in our existence to something more exotic. There’s no petition for Earth to be given a name as cool as Saturn or Neptune or PSR B1620-26 b AKA “Methuselah.” Even Mars is a better name for a planet than Earth. At worst it reminds you of candy. What would you rather have, a Mars bar or an Earth bar? And let’s not get into star names. We have the Sun. Really?! 5,000 years of recorded life and all we could come up with is SUN? The closest star to us is called Alpha Centauri. How fucking cool is that?!?! All we can do with our star is name it, Sun? If Sun and Earth are good enough names, than Car is absolutely appropriate for my car. Next to the Sun and Earth, my car has been the most important thing to my existence.
She was born in early 1995 but wasn’t truly alive until December 25th when I received her as a Christmas present from my parents. Not a bad Xmas haul for this Jewish born child. It turned out to be the single greatest gift I have ever been given. Whether it was to cross the state or cross the street, she was there for me.
No one will ever know what my car has gone through. Not even I could tell you all the experiences she’s had. Not because other people have driven her. (I don’t need all ten fingers to count the number of people who’ve been behind her wheel.) It’s because even I have not been conscious or awake or sober through some of her most intrepid events.
She saw me though the best and worst times in my life. She was always there for me. Whenever I demanded a little something extra, she would oblige. No matter how poorly I treated her, no matter how badly I maintained her and no matter what I asked of her to do, my car was always there for me. She made me look cool when I wasn’t. When I figured out how to actually be cool, she was the best “hype-man” there ever was. My car was the secret sauce on the Willie-burger.
The last few years of her life have not been easy. She’s been housed in a garage on life support. Not well enough to go out on the open road. Every now and then she would start and you could still feel her deep rumble. Sadly, she was unable to safely make it to the end of the block without the fear that she might break down. She was old and while her miles were just shy of 120,000; they were a hard 120,000 miles. Changes in my life necessitated me to finally pull the plug. I’d like to think she’s be in a better place. The big parking lot in the sky. Hopefully her parts will live on in other cars. Making them stronger, more powerful and infinitely more pimp.
To know me was to know my car. We were a packaged deal. More people knew my black mustang than who knew me. That’s why I’m sharing this with all of you. There isn’t a friend that I’ve had in the last 19 years that didn’t know my car.
She was at just about every function that I’ve been to. You knew there was going to be a good time if you saw her before entering the party. In fact, sometimes, she was where the party was at.
I believe the record number of people we were able to fit in her was eight, definitely seven. As I got older, and bigger, I would think back in amazement that we could get even three people in my car, let alone a half dozen drunk and stone individuals. If they weren’t drunk and stoned going into my car, they certainly were coming out of her.
The list of stories about her are too long to tell. The fun and the heartbreak. The smiles and cries. The secrets and truths. These are the things only she knew and was around to witness. I honestly don’t think I would be alive, a few days before turning 35, if not for my car. She got me, and many others, out of some very precarious situations.
Although she’s gone, do not mourn her. Celebrate her. Tonight, when you're sitting down at dinner or have a quite moment of reflection, remember one of the good times you had with her and “pour a little out” for Willie’s Car. She’d prefer Old English 800, if possible…
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