Three Days in April

I. Day One.

I have bad news for you, Jeff said with a certain grim look on his face. He glanced over his shoulder at a man in greasy pants and a grimy blue shirt with his name embroidered above the pocket. Then he looked back at me.

We found water in your oil pan. It was milky brown when it came out. It seems like your car has been thru some water. Either that or the head gasket's blown.

He turned to the man in the blue shirt. Isn't that right, Joe?

The man in blue pushed out his lower lip and nodded. Yes it is.

Jeff looked back up at me. We changed the oil anyway, but keep an eye on it.

II. Day Two.

A day later, I checked the oil, having driven downtown and back once. It was milky again. I walked back down to the mechanic's shop, where Jeff was sitting at the desk and recognized me when I got to the front of the line.

Yes sir, he said.

It looks like the gasket's blown, I said, not really knowing what I was talking about. I drove it once and now the oil's milky brown again.

He frowned.

Can you give me a ball park estimate on how much something like that would cost to fix?

Ballpark... He shuffled some papers on his desk and then looked back at me. $900 to $1,000. It depends.

Ok. That's what I need. Thanks.

The vehicle's bluebook value is $1,000. The Escort Wagon had to go. It was a good car, certainly better than the last. Ten years isn't bad.

III. Day Three.

We sat in the office having survived a used car sales experience. Caleb wasn't pushy, and he wasn't obnoxious, and he knew what he was talking about. And in not being pushy, he made the sale. The price was right (or good enough), the car was right (or good enough), and we just wanted it to be over.

So we sat in the office, having been passed off from Caleb to the Office Manager. We sat looking at his face and the notes he'd scribbled on a pad as he told us the final amount. Trudy took out her checkbook. (We have been preparing for this moment for some time and were anything but fertile ground when the poor guy tried in vain to interest us in a 5% loan -- rates are so low, he said.)

I don't know if I can write that small, she said.

But she did, and as of tonite we have a bank account with a gaping hole where the money used to be and a shiny, kinda-used Jetta wagon sitting in the driveway where the Escort used to be.

When we replace this one, the boy will be out of college.

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