"Was that you?" I ask.
It was as if Betty took offense to this simple question, because she then seemed to begin to shut down.
"All I was wondering, Betty, was if you made it smell... like, that, in here? Or, was it the car next to us?"
It was too late.... she took it personally. Though, I doubt she would have if it actually hadn't been her. I truly believe that, rather than upset, she was embarrassed, ashamed and frightened of what was happening to her more than anything.
She was dying in my arms.
Her last breathes were sour, and filled her insides where I sat. The aroma slowly faded, as did her strength.
"Betty, please... please get me home," I plead.
She responds as best she can, though rigor mortis is beginning to creep inside of her tissues, and it is slowly winning the battle- the wheel begins to tighten.
Betty's responses slow.... new and unknown lights begin to flash on, off, then on again. She seems to quiet with every passing block. Her usual rumble dissipates under my feet; she becomes oddly smooth- discordant, only slightly... but eerily noticeable to me, when compared to her normal dysarthria.... which was never obnoxious, but comforting instead- like the voice of Louis Armstrong.
She had been singing to me for 5 years... and now all I could hear was "what a wonderful world...." fading into the dark of the night.
As I wrestled with the ever stiffening wheel, begging her to make the corners, I feared the worst. Though, I had fleeting thoughts that this was not Betty's goodbye, but only a power steering problem. Perhaps we would part on better terms, on our own time, when we decide. Though, after the body was cold, I realized that this is the way it had to be. Only death could part us.... neither she nor I would be able to let go otherwise.
It had to be this way.
She left a trail of blood... or perhaps it was tears, or perhaps both. It led from the streets, where we used to roam together, into the garage. She was bleeding out. Steam was rising from her chest, like her soul was escaping from the mess that had become her withering body. It was as if it needed to finally be free of its ever aging cage, one that failed a little bit more every day.
She needed a tow to get to the car doctor, where the diagnosis was terminal. It would be that Sunday, February the 7th was our last ride together.
She will always hold a place in my heart. Even in the end, she never failed me. She did, in fact, get me home.
There were no long goodbyes, reminiscing, or tears shed as I cleared the remaining things from her comforting, yet stark and now empty interior. She had gone. All that was left were pieces of metal, rubber, glass and leather. So, I didn't fear for her when I snapped off the hood ornament that had, throughout her life, adorned Betty as a proud, strong and beautiful Cadillac.
She wasn't there to feel the break. I, however, did.
