Wumbo Wednesday With Weaselo: Let him go, let him go, God bless him.

No news or anything tonight, watch the ALCS or hockey, or Game 4 of the WNBA Finals. Or the Marble League, Qualifiers and Event 1 are up.

Here at DFO, we take care of our cars, even if we’re not a car blog, except for the first part of Sexy Friday sometimes now that Mr. Ayo runs that (and I still want his guide to The Corkscrew!). We personify them, as they are part of us, with us at seemingly every juncture. After all, one of the recurring characters in DFO lore is tWBS’s trusty pickup, Dave.

As previously mentioned, last weekend Senorita Weaselo and I got into a car accident. I somehow managed to escape (to my knowledge) unscathed, but Senorita Weaselo likely will need some physical therapy for her injuries. As for my car… the title of tonight’s post, a reference to the below song, should give the verdict rendered by the adjuster.

I went this morning to clean out my car, weep in the driver’s seat as I talked to him one last time to good-bye, to the point one of the good folks at Queens Village Auto noticed and consoled me when I got back to the office, and claim my plates to give to the DMV.

What I said to him is private, of course. What I write now is a eulogy for yes, a car, but a companion, true to the end.

His name is, was, Argent. Argent Sterling [Weaselo]. A silvery name for a silver car.

I got him because I had to hand down what was Madre Weaselo’s hand-me-down, her old Hyundai Elantra, to Hermana Weaselo, who needed it to go be a real girl when she stayed upstate after graduating college. And it just so happened Hermana’s then-boyfriend at the time worked at a dealership and gave me the hook-up.

I remember that day for two things: One, getting Argent of course, and two, we went to the BWW across the street, and in retrospect the Blazin’ wings I got that day led to the first flare-up of what would lead to my gallbladder getting removed a month or so later. (It just felt like a stomachache at around 2 AM, but at that time it subsided.) Overall, a momentous day for me.

But I drove my new car home, at that point unnamed, and dealt with the fun of the Taconic State Parkway because I didn’t have an EZPass yet and it had fewer tolls. We did it as dusk approached, and appreciated the chance for a true test that it had passed with flying colors. The Taconic can be scary, and I had never felt so confident in maneuvering it. My first car, bought (fine, partially financed) with my own money, some sort of major foothold of adulthood, even if the whole concept is a bit antiquated these days.

We became a three-headed conglomerate. My car, my violin, and me, on our collective way to whatever gig or show or students. Onward, to the next one. Sometimes no violin, sometimes my grandfather’s violin because mine was in the shop. But Argent and I were always game, off to wherever the road took us. As far up as Connecticut, or Monsey. As far down as Lakewood, NJ, or Toms River, or an occasional gig out in the Poconos.

He had more prominent roles to play as well. A year or so later, when I was asked to be a ringer for my alma mater where I did my Bachelor’s, because they were hurting for violinists. And I met a girl there, also an alumna, just graduated, and she was my stand partner, and she was chill and sweet and kind and interesting and wonderful to talk to and laughed way too hard at my jokes and observations from the back of the 2nds. After a bite, I insisted I’d drive her home, because I was going in that direction, so it just made sense rather than waiting for the bus and the Metro North.

I was not going in that direction, south Brooklyn is basically the opposite direction from northeast Queens. But, if not for Argent, I’m never able to drive her home, and Senorita Weaselo and I may never have gotten together. The life we hope to live together is in our minds because of Argent.

And sure, he didn’t always make it easy, or perfect. The city roads and curbs are atrocious, and I had to replace tires and wheels thanks to them more than a couple times. The power locks didn’t always work, because I was driving someone back into the city after a gig and they opened the door right as I clicked it to unlock. This also led to some time where one door just wouldn’t lock for a time, and my sunglasses got stolen out of the car last year (sucks to be them to try and sell them, they were prescription). And of course, the rear-enders I also got into last year.

But Argent always could bounce back from whatever. Every time I took him in for an oil change, or whatever, everyone always said he was in great shape. And I was elated about that. I figured I had many more years with him.

I should have had more years with him. Sure, you may say six years is plenty of time with a car, but I was hoping for 10. I was hoping to get to 100,000 miles with him, and 150K total, sometime next year, then to make his way to 200K. Time to move on comes for us all, but I wanted a smile on my face, tears of pride for everything he’d done for me over the years as the torch would passed to his heir. Not tears of grieving. I know at the end of the day, as I’ve been reminded by the family Weaselo and the guys at the body shop, he’s just a car, and a car is a Thing, and things can be replaced, and they’re absolutely right. I know I’ll have other cars over the rest of my life. But I also know I won’t have another Argent. Taking an SUV to the front like that, he died a hero for Senorita Weaselo and me… and I wish he didn’t have to.

When the time comes, there’ll be more road trips for us to take. Even if, sorry buddy, I plan on taking my time to get there. Until then, Godspeed, Argent.

My gallant, valiant, trusty, silver boy.