Clyde Resurrected

I recently received an AA unity chip for four months sober. In an episode of The DrakeCast with Elliott Adler, I spoke often about “the curse” Clyde has been in my life. Today I realize much of that curse had less to do with the car than with my own attachment to the chaos surrounding it.

I also learned something about hiring half-assed mechanics. It is far better to pay a good mechanic once than to pay a bad one repeatedly, only to discover that some of your biggest problems can be traced to a forgotten detail.

“Oh, we forgot to put gas in Clyde.”

When my mechanic, Brandon, called, I was asleep after an all-night drive from Gadsden to Nashville and back. My sister had suffered a panic attack after a 20-year reunion and needed a ride home. Four months earlier, she had helped me find the rehab treatment that may have saved my life. This time, I could return the favor.

We made it back to Birmingham and collapsed for a few hours of sleep. Then Brandon called with the news: Clyde was running again. Brown’s Auto Shop had exorcised most of his demons.

From now until entropy finally catches up with the old Mercury, Clyde will be started with a flathead screwdriver because of damage done to the ignition cylinder by a previous mechanic. Brandon’s invoice summarized it perfectly: “Repaired the last person’s mess.”

That is the thing about Clyde. He may be resurrected for a time, but his maintenance is always iterative. Every owner leaves a mark. A decade ago, one writer got so frustrated trying to open the trunk, he shot the keyhole off. For years, a piece of rebar on the back bumper served as the key to open the trunk.

Clyde is everyman’s car now. This old Mercury can never really belong to anyone. Like a drift boat passed between friends, it is only borrowed for a while. These days it can be started by anyone carrying a flathead screwdriver and faith.

And I’m more comfortable with that arrangement now, especially knowing the brake master cylinder has been replaced. When the brake pedal started sinking to the floor, it seemed as good a time as any to get right with my higher power.

So, I finally did. Thy will be done.