Driving Emotions
by Janet D. Johnson
It was August 2010, school was about to start, and Mercury was in retrograde. Our mechanic said my aging Buick Rendezvous was beyond saving. I liked the “Voos”, as my friend Tasha had dubbed it. It was comfortable, rode well, and had survived multiple trips back and forth between Rhode Island and Indiana. While I enjoyed its practicality, I was ready for a change.
Unfortunately, the timing was bad. My days were packed with writing syllabi, attending meetings, and answering frantic emails from advisees. Luckily, car dealerships are open on Sundays in Rhode Island, which was not the case in Indiana. I was on the hunt for a smaller car, something a little sexy, maybe. Reliable. Comfortable. Plus low financing. And a sunroof. A good stereo system was non-negotiable.
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These variables turned out to be difficult to find in one package. I was also not impressed with the salespeople I encountered. On one test drive, I was told that “Women say they want smaller cars, but they really don’t. You should just get another SUV.” Others were pushy, and I don’t respond well to high-powered sales pitches. I was getting desperate and headed across the state to a giant concrete sea of drab silver, gray, and black cars, which I assumed were different makes and models, but I couldn’t really tell. Then I spotted my new car: A 5-door bright blue Mazda 3 with a sunroof, Bose stereo system with SiriusXM, 5 CD changer, heated seats, Bluetooth, and built-in GPS. I was in love.
The next day, the salesman called me with bad news. Someone else had put in an offer on my car. There were no other Mazda 3s with the same specifications, although a silver one had most of the features except for the sunroof. He said they could add one at no charge. I reluctantly said okay, reasoning that I needed something immediately. A day later, they had put the sunroof into the silver one and I was ready to pick it up. As fate (or Mercury) would have it, the other buyer’s financing fell through. The blue Mazda 3 was mine.
Driving has always been a good way to find out how I am feeling. Raw emotions lurk underneath the surface of my conscious mind until someone cuts me off or fails to use their turn signal at a crucial juncture. If I start yelling or making up some new swear words, that’s a clue that I’m feeling anxious, or sad, or angry. When Mom went into the hospital in 2018, I went back to Indiana for her unexpected heart surgery. There were serious complications, and as I drove home afterward, I thought I was fine until I hit the Mass Pike. I sobbed and screamed a good part of the way after having held in my fear and worry when I was with my family. This was a common pattern that my car had probably gotten used to over the years: hold in my emotions until I’m safely alone where only it could hear me explode.
16 years and 118,000+ miles later, I’m still driving it. A few weeks ago, one of my students was with me when I dropped off my backpack at the Mazda. She gasped when I told her it was from 2010. She said, “I thought my car was old because it’s from 2016!” I accepted her implicit pity with a secret smile. There was no way to explain the magic of this little blue car.
Research and popular culture provide many explanations for the love affair Americans have with our cars. They can be status symbols or opportunities for independence. They are also containers for strong emotions. My Mazda can hold everything I give it, and that’s all I need.
Janet D. Johnson is a professor of English education at Rhode Island College and serves as the Site Director for the Rhode Island Writing Project (RIWP), where she works with K-12 teachers on ways to incorporate writing and critical literacy in and outside the classroom. She is a qigong/yoga teacher and an enthusiastic if less than skillful songwriter and banjolele player.
