The first time I remember hearing this sound was just after getting my license, driving for the first time without my dad. I was around 17, and I think I probably knew everything. Well it turns out, I didn't know how to back the Buick out of a driveway without taking out a beautiful lighthouse mailbox.
I hopped in my champagne colored Buick Century, and put it in reverse. The driveway I was coming out of was wonky, and curved, something I wasn't used to at 17. All the drivers education classes couldn't have prepared me for the noise I heard: a deafening scrape from the car and an inhuman screech from my mouth.
The mailbox, a large lighthouse shaped thing, toppled and snapped like a twig under the weight of my two ton beauty. I sobbed, apologetically, to its owner. I was mortified, and even more so when I discovered the red and blue paint transfers onto my baby. How was I going to explain this to my dad? He would be furious and take away my beautiful Sargeant (the car's name).
A wonderful woman named Jeannie fixed this for me. You see, there is a product called Rubbing Compound that is specifically made for taking paint off paint. It worked like a charm, and I didn't have to tell my dad. What a win, right? Wrong. This particular day, Karma had decided to show me who was the boss.
Later that night, post-paint and a trip to the auto store, I decided to head home. I took a wrong turn down a dark, dead end, no curb road. In my attempt at a 'K' turn, I smashed the back end of my beloved Sargeant into a telephone pole. Again, resulting in tears and panic. There was no way rubbing compound would fix this. The tail light was smashed and the bumper bent. It was a disaster. My father was definitely going to murder me, and worse, take away my car and ground me.
I couldn't have that, so -being a stupid 17 year old- I lied. I told my dad that I didn't know how it happened. I told him that someone hit me at McDonald's. He never believed me, but he finally accepted my story at that time. I can't remember now if I ever told him I wrecked the car, and I guess it doesn't matter anymore.
Last night, after a little late night sushi with my friend Chelsea, I stopped to clean out my car at a car wash. 7 years and almost as many cars later, I heard that familiar scrape and my stomach dropped again. A red stripe across my black Corporal BB, a Hyundai Elantra still mostly owned by Tinker Federal Credit Union. I got out to inspect the damage and I realized I knew exactly what to do.
Today, I sat on the ground at a car wash, after a trip to Autozone, with a can of rubbing compound and a towel, working off the red paint from my bumper. I reflected back to 17, and all the mistakes I have made since then. Some of them big, almost none of them able to be removed with a towel and some elbow grease. I realized how thankful I was for Jeannie and a life lesson, that would truly last a lifetime.
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