Seeing someone else

We had a great trip down to Melbourne over Easter – a week of shopping, a gallery and a comedy festival show, and, a three day drive along the Great Ocean Road. Upon returning last week, I went through the messages on the answering machine. Two of them were from a police constable who apparently wanted to speak to me about an “incident” on the weekend.

It was about 5.30pm but I still tried to call – the Constable was not at the station, so I left a message, noting that I had been away. I was left to spend the evening wondering what the incident was. A call to my mother produced no urgent family news. We couldn’t think of any major traffic infringements that had occurred down in Victoria.

I finally got in touch with the constable just before lunch the next day. The constable wanted to know about my car – not the hire car we had down in Melbourne - but the 20 year old hatch that had been sitting in the carport all weekend … or so I had thought.

Apparently there had been a report of a handbag snatched in another Canberra suburb that weekend, and witnesses to the incident had identified my car as the get-away vehicle. Their description matched my car both in terms of the registration and the make, colour and vintage. The police officer noted that sometimes the wrong car comes up due to someone getting the rego down incorrectly, but in this case, the rego did match the car description.

I was off the hook as the witness also described the alleged bag snatchers as being teenagers. The constable questioned me about whether anyone else had access to the car (the only candidate was down with me in Melbourne). I did note that the car was in a car port, not a garage, so was thus to that extent accessible. She suggested I check for any evidence of a break-in, which I later did. I hesitantly opened the boot – but no evidence there, nor did there appear to be any damage to the door, or interior.

So I am left with the thought that my little old car, which I left peacefully resting at home, and came back to find it in the same place, actually has another life.

I mean, if it happened once … who knows how many times it has been out without me? After all these years, has our relationship become stale? Have I left the car wanting something more?

Sure, we might have got into a rut, the daily drive to work being the biggest trip for the old hatch since there has been a second car in the household. Sure it has been quite a while since I’ve tenderly washed the bumpers, but then what’s a guy to do when there are water restrictions? And I have to admit that it has been a while since I’ve had it given a service.

To be honest, I have had thoughts of other cars. Perhaps the poor old thing noticed me coming home with the glossy brochures of shiny, new, younger cars.

Maybe I have given it cause to long for more excitement, to look for someone who can get its engine racing like back when we first met. And if so, who am I to complain if it strays when I’m not around?

But now, things have gone one step further. If the allegations are correct, my car has indeed fallen in with the wrong crowd. Sure, let it have its fun, but not at the expense of the liberty of others, and not to the extent that I have to hear of these ill-conceived acts.

I had words with the car on the way back from work today. I gripped the wheel firmly and tried to steer it back onto the straight and narrow, but I’m not sure how well I drove the message home. At the end of the journey, I sat and listened to the cooling engine ticking in the otherwise silent car port. I felt a sense of expectancy, as if the car was waiting for me to leave again, so it could dream of the caress of another hand on the wheel, a firm foot on the accelerator, someone who would drive back the passion into its otherwise mundane existence.