Thelma D.

Thelma was my first car. Originally my sister's, Thelma was a 1958 Chevy, sea blue over sky blue, with a brand new paint job that my sister had done herself. She was gorgeous.

She'd already had a rich life in the state capital with sis. Survived a t-boning by a man named Wacker (I'm not kidding), and then came to rest again in the suburbs with me.

Like my sis, I took Thelma to college. She was not only fun to drive, but there was only one other '58 in town and it was on blocks, so she was a stand-out. She had her own fan base, and I would get in her to find love notes under the wipers "Dear Thelma..." I was never anonymous in that car. If I stayed out late, people would know where I'd been.

I had her for two happy years. One day while driving to my summer job as a security guard, I smelled gas. Then a lot of gas. Then I heard the carburetor ignite the whole mess. Long story, but I met some nice firemen.

So ends the tale of Thelma D.