Auto Biography IX

Jules’ Bells

a fine set of wheels

Jules was bought brand-spanking-new – three months before the blizzard of 1996 hit. A friend had said that if you can imagine yourself thinking that's a fine set of wheels some years down the road, then you should buy the car now. I looked into the parking lot on the morning of December 28 and saw nothing but a rumpled snowscape with a solitary red taillight peering balefully through the virgin white. I nearly had a heart attack.

You can’t own a car for 14 years and not have a hatful of tales to tell when you’re done. Jules took Ter and me on some grand adventures during his time with us, many of which will be their own Auto Bio posts. He was a ‘96 Chev Camaro, black, standard 5-speed, low, sleek, witchy-eyed and gorgeous even after he was well past paid off. I still see versions of him on the street and admire each one as it cruises past. It’s hard to believe that the model is almost 20 years old. I won’t call it a classic, but it sure was purty. And because he was ours, Jules was the purtiest of them all.

Living in a Victorian mansion from 1993 had turned us into froufrou junkies and our mutual love of Christmas eventually spilled out into the car. Ter had noticed ornaments hanging from the rearview mirror in parked cars and thought it would be cool to dress up the Camaro in kind. An annual tradition was for us to each buy a special decoration for the tree; on one year’s outing, we bought Jules his bells. They were tied with a red ribbon to his mirror, and every time he hit a dip or a bump, he’d jingle. Such a merry sound, it was destined to keep us in the holiday spirit no matter how crappy the weather or dismal our mood. With that many bells tingling on the string, you had to be a king-sized Grinch to stay grouchy.

Inevitably, the old horse began to fail and in the spring of 2010, we replaced him with another brand new vehicle, one better-suited to Ter’s work commute and my old bones. When it came time to pull out the Christmas decorations that year, we found Jules’ bells wrapped in their crunchy tissue, waiting to be strung from his rearview mirror. There was no question, either. They were his bells; they wouldn’t be hung in the new car.

Now we hang them on our tree.