Well, I have a gentleman’s agreement on the sale of Chewy and I trust the buyer to tell me if he changes his mind.
My husband and I may have named the truck Chewy because the old Studebaker sounded like Chewbacca when he headed down the road. I wish I could remember for certain. There are so many things I can no longer remember. Never-mind all of that. Chewy is going to a new home. Chewy will be with a family that likes old things and enjoys restoring them. The home even has young’uns interested in old things.
Lonny bought the truck for me when I started a novel that featured a ’49 Studebaker truck. When Lonny brought it home and I drove it to Mom and Dad’s for the first time, my father put his hands in his pockets and frowned. He shook his head and said, “Studebaker was very good at making wagons. They weren’t very good at much else.”
I worried some about what my father thought. I respected him, but pretended I hadn’t heard. I liked Chewy for his blue paint and round top. I liked him because my husband bought him for me to encourage my writing. It was Lonny’s way of saying, “I support you. I may not read what you write, but I’m proud of you.”
We used to have fly-ins. My husband and I built an ultralight (which is a story for another time.) We would host other ultralight owners for a few days of games and feasting.
I had driven the Studebaker to work the day of one of these fly-ins. I came home just as the planes started arriving.
Lonny waved as I drove up and parked. His grin was broad, as if it wanted to jump off his face and give me a hug. I heard him telling one of the pilots about the truck.
Later he told me how much he enjoyed seeing me drive around in Chewy, how proud he was and how much delight he knew I took in driving the old blue Studebaker.
I remember that day now and wonder at how people can take joy in another’s pleasure. It touches me to know that Lonny and I truly delighted in each other’s happiness. It touches me that I tried to forget my father’s comments. I am glad that I relaxed and drove the old truck even when my father shook his head and complained.
But Chewy is gone now. It is bittersweet. I knew I would never get him running again and I hope his new owner will. I took down the new owner’s number. Maybe I’ll stay in touch. Maybe I could drive Chewy one more time. Probably not, but life has some strange twists.
Thank you for reading. Bev
(Published also at justonebeggar.net