nausikaa is no more

My dear car is dearly departed. She was used and abused by thieves, and I recently reached the difficult conclusion that she was damaged beyond my means to repair. Let this, then, be what is remembered of her.

I called her Nausikaa, the sobriquet suggested for her by my friend tarquin, who had recently written a paper on the eponymous Odyssey character, dubbing her "the bravest lass in all of Phaiakia." Nausikaa is the daughter of the island's king, Alkinoos, and the only one of the group of women whom Odysseus encounters on a riverbank who keeps her wits about her. Of course, when Odysseus crashes this gathering of women, he is, besides bone-weary and starving, completely unclothed. The other women quickly disband, but Nausikaa dares to speak to this naked man. I admire this particular brand of courage, so Nausikaa was born. And because I'm my father's daughter, I also appreciate the inherent pun: "Nausi-car."

A 1990 Toyota Corolla, Nausikaa came to me--with only 62,000 miles--after my previous car was stolen. Yes, I have the dubious distinction of being twice a victim of grand theft auto. During my last year in college, I had spent several weeks of winter break in Raleigh with my family. Upon my return, tarquin picked me up at the airport and deposited me at my apartment. I was living at that time on the east side of Austin, in an apartment that was considered by my mother to be definitely on the wrong side of the tracks. (I was pleased, however, with its proximity to the Eastside Cafe and Mi Madre's.) That evening, I placed some items in the backseat of my car to take to my grandmother's house, and the next day, I met friends at Town Lake for an early morning run, as was my wont, then returned home to shower before heading north to my grandparents'. I walked downstairs to the parking lot a few hours later to find my space empty. I stood at first in amazement, unable to comprehend what my eyes were (not) seeing. It's a very specific feeling of utter disbelief, the ultimate lesson in object permenance. The car is not in front of me, I thought, but it must be around here somewhere.

I made two phone calls. First, the police. The response? "Now, honey, are sure you didn't just leave it somewhere?" Like, please, lady, take me seriously! It's not a purse! The second, my father. The response? "Your car? Someone stole your car? Why would anyone steal your car?" I don't know, dad, but it happened! I'm standing right here, looking at nothing!

About a week later, Austin PD recovered my car from the 15-year-old kid--mere days out of juvi--who jacked it that morning. I went to court, testified that had under no circumstances given him permission to break the steering column to drive my car from the lot, and secured $1200 in reparations. In the meantime, my parents had bought me Nausikaa, so the Oldsmo-buick (TM seth) went to my brother. My parents drove her up to Brenham from Houston, I drove the tainted vehicle down from Austin, and we exchanged cars. We ate Tex-Mex. I was wearing a grey sweater and khaki pants. (I bring up all these details to convey the importance of this day in my life).

Nausikaa moved with me to Raleigh in 2002. My brother drove her across the country for me that summer while I was abroad. I defiled her with North Carolina plates but made it up to her with a veritable potpourri of bumper stickers: the Apple logo, Euro-style Vermont, an Israeli flag, Native Texan, KUT, UT, the HRC logo, and the Astros. Some thought her over-decorated, but I was raised to believe that more is more.

In August 2003, her right passenger-side window was smashed to get to the radio, and on August 29, 2005, she was stolen from the corner of M & 10th streets, NW, in the District of Columbia. I had packed her up with most of my belongings, intending to head back to Raleigh early that morning. But I walked downstairs to be, yet again, confronted by an empty space. This time it took five weeks for the police to find the car, and Nausikaa fared a good deal less well than her predecessor. So I said the long goodbye.

R.I.P. Nausikaa. January 14, 2001 to October 24, 2005. Beloved Car, Devoted Auto. She saved me a lot.