The B;ue Bomber

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"The Blue Bomber" I can still smell the scent of my father's cologne embedded into the plush, pillow-like, blue velvet seats. "Old Spice Cologne," I believe it was at the time. I have vivid memories of climbing across the front passenger seat, due to the fact that the driver's side door tended to be a bit stubborn, and temperamental; it tended not to open. I'll never forget, the amateur, Midnight Blue paint job that my ex-boyfriend and myself gave it, after my first accident. Driving it was like navigating a luxury cruiser, through the open water, the way it bucked and reared down the road, due to the lack of sturdy struts and shocks. The driver's seat wrapped around you like a couch or your favorite chair. The car always made me feel safe, due to its immense size and stability, which resembled an ocean liner made of steel.

Also, I felt as if my father was there to protect me wherever I went, as long as I was in that car. "The Blue Bomber, " my girl friends and I named it.

My father had owned the '85 Oldsmobile, Regency 98, since it had only 400 miles on it. It had been an automobile that he had purchased through the company that he worked for. I received the car from my father when the odometer read 85,000 miles (give or take a few hundred). It was eight or nine years old when I took ownership, but it drove like the day we bought it! I enjoyed it throughout my Junior and Senior years of High School. Thus was my first real experience with total independence and privacy from my family. My girl friends and I practically lived out of that car. I drove it to school, work and spent numerous weekends in it with my friends. It housed all of our teenage secrets including my friends' cigarettes, our liquor and beer accumulation amongst many other prized possessions. You name it, and we stored it in there! For years I conducted a teenage taxi service, as I was the only one with a car throughout my high school years. I developed a great attachment, even perhaps a relationship with, The Blue Bomber. It was a part of me until that fateful night.

As I walked out of work that dreadfully cold night, during that Blizzard of '95, my heart sank into the soles of my shoes. I stood in complete awe with my manager as we stared at a car shaped pavement spot surrounded by a foot and a half of snow. All that was left of my best friend was that outline in the freshly fallen snow. IT WAS GONE! At first, I thought perhaps it had been towed, due to the amount of snowfall and the illegal parking lot I had let it rest in while at work. For a moment, I felt embarrassed to think that I had foolishly gotten my car towed. But, as my manager and I trudged back through the snow towards the restaurant, reality sunk in. We called The Buffalo Police Department and they filed a lost and stolen report for my car. I was so anxious for them to find my car that I called them every day to see if they had located my most treasured possession. There only response was that they would contact me," if they came across it." If it weren't for the snow ban on the city, I would have searched the downtown area myself.

The call came two weekends later, on Friday afternoon. They had come across the car on the East Side of Buffalo, at the corner of Best and Fox Streets. I was instructed to remove the car by 4 pm on Saturday or they would impound it. So, that next morning I drove to meet the AAA tow truck driver to retrieve my car from it's hiding spot. I'll never forget how it looked as I drove around the corner towards it. If cars had human qualities, then this one would have been in rough shape, between being deeply bruised with broken ribs, a punctured lung and permanent brain damage. Whoever had stolen my car had gotten it stuck and while trying to free it, they spun the tires bald (which I learned from a neighborhood bystander). While sitting there for a week, it had been hit by a snowplow, damaging the drivers' side doors and quarter panel. The battery had been removed and the radio violently torn from the dashboard. Smashing the windshield, the steering column had also been demolished. But, they never looked in the trunk, thus sparing the personal possessions that I stored there. I'll never understand why they neglected that area of the car. Though they did discard the window stickers (the blue fish with it's three bubbles) that were stuck to the back triangular, drivers side window, which acted like a tattoo.

As the repairs were being calculated, the cosmetic damages were said to be repairable to look like new. But, the real test was trying to start the car back up after the battery had been replaced. After turning the key, I couldn't control my tears. They had killed him, "The Blue Bomber!" The transmission was ruined. And after eleven years of faithful service and over 149, 000 miles, I felt it had had a pretty good run. So off to the car graveyard it went.

I'll never forget that car, my first car. They don't make them like they used to! That car was a part of my adolescence and my first real taste of freedom! What a great automobile, my Blue Bomber was. That feeling of personal violation is one that I hope I never have to experience again.

I have fond memories of the '85 Oldsmobile, Regency 98 that my father owned. I can still smell the scent of his "Old Spice Cologne," embedded into the plush, pillow-like, blue velvet seats. I have vivid memories of climbing across the front passenger seat, due to the fact that the driver's side door tended to be a bit stubborn, and temperamental; it tended not to open. I'll never forget, the amateur, Midnight Blue paint job that my ex-boyfriend and myself gave it, after my first accident. Driving it was like navigating a luxury cruiser, through the open water, the way it bucked and reared down the road, due to the lack of sturdy struts and shocks. The driver's seat wrapped around you like a couch or your favorite chair. The car always made me feel safe, due to its immense size and stability, which resembled an ocean liner made of steel. Also, I felt as if my father was there to protect me wherever I went, as long as I was in that car. "The Blue Bomber, " my girl friends and I named it.