My Favorite Thing

I've never been a fan of driving. But there's something about the little, white, dented Saturn sitting in my drive way. Jamal is his name—and running well is not necessarily his game. I love him.

When I first met Jamal, he was a dent-less machine that I acquired for free to take me from my incredibly small town to the fairly large town 30 miles east every Wednesday evening. He occasionally got stuck in first gear and often burned oil, but on the whole, he ran smoothly. The heat worked. The air conditioning worked. There seats were covered. The windows rolled down. Everything that I had lacked in my previous beaters (that had been PAID for) was in working order.

Now he always did have a 90's flair. But after an evening out with a younger brother, an ice storm, and a couple deer, Jamal officially reached “character” status. There's just something about a front end covered in duct tape that screams awesomeness. For some reason his new look reminded me of booming music and brightly colored, side-ways baseball caps. Which, of course, reminded me of one of my favorite television shows from years gone by, Ghost Writer. And obviously, Jamal became the PERFECT name for my white car.

Jamal and I go everywhere. Partly because I have no other option but mostly because I love using my box-knife to slit open the taped hood in order check the oil in the church parking lot. In heels and a skirt.

So suddenly, driving along the highway with 50 semi-trucks and speeding sports cars is so much more enjoyable. We rock out to old-skool Will Smith rap and wear duct tape like it's goin' out of style. Then we order a couple rounds of that yellowish stuff and call it a night.

Yep. In five words, Jamal is the bomb diggity.