My best friend is German

The first time I saw her in my driveway waiting for me, was my junior year of high school, in February when I got off the bus after school. Even though it was dull, gray and cold outside, she still shined even after twenty six years of use. Her original paint job was in excellent condition, with no dents, but very few scratches. Although up close it revealed millions of tiny cracks, like a crushed eggshell. I dropped my heavy back pack, opened the door slowly while it creaked. I sat on the freezing bouncy seat and pulled the door shut, which left a long hallow echo. I looked around at her sleek, deep blue leather interior. There were pine needles and crumbs all over the floor from her previous owner. The smell was something new and unrecognizable, but I liked it. I felt a smile creep across my face as I reached forward and put my hands on the cold steering wheel in front of me. She was my very first car. A 1982 Mercedes-Benz and she was all mine. I named her Bettie, after Bettie Paige because of her classic beauty. From that moment on, I knew I would never have to take the bus again.

My dad fixed up some minor problems on Bettie, and I cleaned her until she looked brand new. The days when I couldn't drive her because my dad was still working on her, made me miserable. I felt stranded sometimes. I always try to keep her looking spotless and shiny. I decorated her insides with my favorite cute Japanese stuffed animals. I couldn't forget my Wonder Woman cape, so I put it behind my driver's seat. Wonder Woman is my hero, and when I drive I feel like I'm invincible. Bettie only reaches 80 mph, so when I'm lucky enough to go that fast, I feel as though I'm flying. My friends that are in Graphics at school always make me awesome stickers for Bettie. Such as the big black Biohazard sign on my hood, gold "Rock N' Roll Queen" stickers on my back windows, and "Jack Off Jill" band sticker on the back, above my license plate to the left. To finish it off, I bought a vanilla scented air freshener with a pin up girl on it from "Faces", in Northampton. She's smiling and holding a steak on a fork, and underneath her it says "Bite Me". I think it smells like yellow cake rather than vanilla though. I'm so happy that I have a vintage car; it makes me feel good when I drive it. Everyone says it suits me well.

I love the feeling of having my own car that I could drive at any time I want. My car has become of big part of my life, and even a part of me. When I hit a bad pot hole, I cringe as though I can feel it as well. All of my friends and family love Bettie also. They beg me to drive, or to get rides everywhere. Of course they help me pitch in for diesel because it's so costly. I could never get sick of driving, but I can't afford to just cruise around, although that would be nice. When I first got Bettie, diesel was around five dollars a gallon, then a few months later it was around four dollars a gallon, and now thankfully, last time I saw, it was around $3.23 a gallon. The people that work at Hess know me so well, because its one of the very few cheap gas stations around here that carry diesel fuel, and I always go there. Whenever I go inside and ask for some cash on pump 10, they always ask "Diesel, right? Are you sure?" as if they couldn't see me driving a diesel car. One of the guys that work there is in his late 30's, covered in tattoos, and always recognizes me because of Bettie.

Now these days, I feel like whenever I get into Bettie there is something wrong with her. I don't have the money to keep her in good shape, and I feel bad. The black rubbery from bumper won't stay on, so I had to take it off and put it in my trunk. She needs new break pads, oil change and transmissions fluid change. When I drive her, her engine revs up, making a loud noise, then quiets slowly, shifting gears while letting out a squeak and jerking forward. She starts when she wants to if its cold enough for frost outside. After driving for a while, when I get out of my car there is a strong, bitter oily smell coming from under the hood while it smokes. When my friends get into the back seat of Bettie, I make them use the right door because the left one you have to slam shut, because it's slightly crooked, and I don't like slamming it.

There has been a few times where Bettie refused to start at all, but she always works for me in the end. It's been four times now that she's ran out of gas because the gas gauge is broken. I know when she's low on diesel, because she goes real slowly, and then she shakes and rattles, and eventually just shuts down. It's as if she's trying so hard to keep going, but she can't. I try to keep track of the miles and how much I put in the tank, but I always forget. She lasts a pretty long time too; I can go for a few weeks with out filling her up with diesel on a full tank. Although diesel costs a lot, it evens out with gasoline because Bettie gets around 38 miles per gallon. Diesel cars have to be primed once they run out. I've learned to do it by now, and I don't mind getting all greasy and smelly. Not only does the gas gauge not work, but neither does the speedometer or anything else behind the steering wheel. The lights go on, and it still counts the miles I travel, but that’s all. One time I over filled my tank and the blue cotton candy liquid spilled out, onto my shoes.

I finally got to fix most of the problems, and she runs a lot more better now, but despite all of the bad things that have happened or are happening to Bettie, I couldn’t ask for a better car. She gets me places, looks awesome, and I feel great driving her. When that day comes for me to sell her, or there’s a massive amount of damage done that makes her immobile, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ve depended on her for almost a year now, and she’s always been there for me. Except for during the summer I was deprived, because I moved out for a while and I was forced to leave her at home. The best part of coming back home was Bettie. I can’t ever forget the look on people’s faces when they see me drive my 1982 Mercedes-Benz. And I love every second of it.