THE MOVIE OF YOUR LIFE

I was emailing back and forth to a new found pen pal when I remembered my first car which looked like this.



It reminded me of an episode.

It was a late summers evening and Steve Nogler, Colette Ogle and myself were making our way through the streets of Seattle toward where I had parked the car. We had been enthusiastically enjoying each others company and had raised many a pint in celebration of the prospect of beginning our senior year at Western Washington University. At last, graduation and the end of this tiresome education were in our crosshairs. We rounded the corner and there, on the other side of the lonely street was my baby. A 1976 Triumph Spitfire, 1500cc, British Leyland Racing Green, with tan interior and plenty of sass. It was the first car I had owned and I took particular joy in my possession. Occasionally, when feeling a particular hitch in my giddy-up, I would wow companions by vaulting into the waiting drivers seat like some action picture superstar. It was a great trick. Well tonight I was full of the spirit. Without saying a word I broke into a trot, angling toward the waiting car, calculation steps and distance. As I leapt into the air I felt the eyes of my friends locked onto my movement. My feet swung effortlessly in the air as they cleared the top of the car door and I was nearly home free when my left hand slipped off of the top of the windshield. This created a unique set of causal occurrences. My forehead met the steering wheel, my knees met the headrest and my torso headed for the floorboards. And there I was, a crumpled heap. Steve Nogler has a distinct, open, bright belly laugh. It was this sound that met my ears before any other as I hoisted myself out of my predicament. He had so enjoyed my display that he had collapsed in the middle of the street, unable to regain enough equilibrium to stand. Colette was pulling at his arm, trying to get him out of the exact middle of the street while bent with laughter herself. I mustered what little dignity I had left and feigned indifference as blood ran down my face. Friends indeed. It was a quiet ride home. Since my wounded pride has healed many years ago, my only regret is that we didn't have a two camera, thirty-five millimeter set-up running. One preferably on a crane. It still would be quite a scene, just a different movie.