Jaguar!

I have a solar yellow Kia Soul. It’s my favorite vehicle. Yes, I like practical, non-problematic cars. I’ve never been wealthy enough to own vehicles needing maintenance that could consume my monthly budget in one mechanic’s visit.
Having said the above, that doesn’t mean that I have not enjoyed riding in the odd Rolls or Jag. One memory will be forever branded into my memory.

The gang had decided to gather at the Harvard Gardens for a late fall gathering. With our waitress’s permission, we collected about five tables together so the entire group could participate. Our old Folkie digs on Grove Street had finally broken up the previous year. And the old group of intermittent roommates moved on to other residential arrangements. This was a grand reunion. The old crew was fleshed out with several new roomies, a few wives, and girlfriends.

I started talking to Todd, a sketchy companion to our old “almost Friend” John. Todd, like me, was from New York. But Todd was new to New England. I gave him a verbal whirlwind tour of places that might be fun to visit. He asked about Maine, and I filled him in on some places I loved best. I told him about the Blue Anchor Tavern in Portland’s Old Port and Becky’s. Beckey’s was a great place to get breakfast at four AM.

Around closing time, several of us wanted to keep the vibe going but couldn’t find a place that would do it. Todd piped up that we should drive to Portland and go to Becky’s for breakfast. There was an immediate chorus of agreement, followed by groans. We had no car to get us to Portland, which was a two-hour drive.

Todd said his car was nearby, and he’d be glad to drive. So we took a drunken stroll down Charles Street and into the Back Bay. There on Marlborough Street was Todd’s Jaguar. Three of us piled in, and soon, we were racing northward towards Portland.

We should have started being suspicious when Todd seemed unfamiliar with controls, accessories, and where the change for tolls was, but we were more than a bit drunk and paid no attention. The drive north was raucous and full of fun conversation. It wasn’t until we were piled out of the car in Portland and Todd started wiping down the car that we realized that Todd was a thief and had stolen the car.

I always maintained a minimum of adequate distance from the law. So, the wiping down of the car and Todd’s casual attitude toward theft left me frightened and extremely uncomfortable in his company. I made up fast excuses to excuse myself from breakfast and went to see friends.

The day after, I was spooked. When I decided to go back to Boston, I decided to take the bus rather than my normal method of hitching a ride. Our “Almost Friend,” John, denied knowing Todd well. But he wasn’t surprised at the hot car. ” Yeah, he always does seem to live beyond his means.” Right!

Since then, every time I see that type of Jaguar, I think about that early morning drive to Portland in a stolen Jaguar.