My three loves

Lady Phantom, my zippy black 2003 Ford Focus, pulled me up to a crossroads this summer. Lady's lease was running out, and I had to decide whether to purchase her outright or start anew with a different vehicle. In the midst of weighing that decision, another route seemed to appear out of nowhere, one that at the beginning seemed to lead the two of us beyond the edge of a cliff: Bid goodbye to Lady and say hello to the assumed perils of public transportation.

Why was I considering the nuclear option? The mere thought of my savings in monthly car payments and insurance, as well as the liquid gold that Lady drank up like Perrier, had me fantasizing about where that extra bundle of cash could go. A jaunt through the European capitals? New furniture not purchased at Ikea? Personal transformation through fresh wardrobe?

In addition to the financial windfall I was convinced I would see, the environmental repercussions of going carless didn't escape me. I live in Los Angeles, which has some of the worst traffic and smog in the country. If I can lead by example by taking just one car off the road, even if it's the efficient and tiny Lady, my city will be better off for it.

Sounds wonderful, right? It's never quite that simple. Angelenos are people who equate their cars with freedom and view the loss of a vehicle with gravity akin to that of losing a limb. I'm also gay, and we gays love our wheels. I've had three such loves in my life.

As some gay people view pets as children, welcoming them into their families like newborns, my first car, Cherry Bomb, was like the best boyfriend I never had.

Purchased with leftover bar mitzvah money when I was entering my sophomore year of college, Cherry was an effeminate male Honda Civic (all cars have specific gender energy) who never let me down. The little maroon trooper braved the fiercest Connecticut winters and his engine always started, even when it was so cold it felt like extreme acupuncture was being applied to my extremities. Cherry's defroster sent three-inch sheets of ice crashing from my windshield, and his wipers swatted away hail the size of golf balls.

Cherry fell ill in the midst of our relationship, hemorrhaging oil everywhere he went. It got so bad that every time we went somewhere, be it New York or the campus Taco Bell, Cherry needed a $3 quart of oil. I stuck with him--mainly since I didn't have a dime to my name and had no choice.

Cherry's death knell sounded when his emissions needed testing. There was no way he was passing that test. Since his repairs would have cost more money than my life was worth, I said a tearful goodbye to my love.

Parting with my first automotive amour brought me to the new love of my life: Simon. A shiny silver Mitsubishi Gallant, he was a little big but amazingly fast and maneuverable, and unlike Cherry he had electric windows and an air conditioner that could freeze Hades.

Simon was as good a man as a car could be. This was never clearer than when he served as my moving van to California. It was just the two of us on the open road. We stopped when we wanted to (river rafting in Colorado, dancing at Studio 54 in Vegas) and just passed on through when it was necessary (Kansas and Indiana). Simon's radio died somewhere near the Grand Canyon, the volume suddenly jolting from barely audible to a deafening screech every time we hit a bump. I forgave him, though, because he let me appreciate the sound of the warm wind rushing by us.

At the beginning of our California adventure Simon remained as dependable as time, even after two fender benders and an accident that tore off his bumper. (It was quite a sight to behold--a car with no front driving up L.A.'s trendy Robertson Boulevard, surrounded by Bentleys and Beemers.)

Like Cherry, Simon's health problems caught up with him, and at the time it was more than a young and immature partner such as I could take. I wasn't willing to put in the time or money needed to maintain our relationship, but to this day I regret giving him up so easily.

My separation from Simon did bring me to Lady, and she and I became fast friends. Lady was the best gal pal a gay guy could want, but she was no life partner. I decided that even though we had amazing times driving around Los Angeles, trekking to Vegas, and exploring the Pacific Coast Highway, our time in the sun had passed and we needed to go our separate ways. I had bigger things to worry about than idle fun; money and ozone had to be considered.

I handed Lady over to the car dealer and politely declined offers to purchase her or entertain any other potential vehicular relationship.

I would be taking the bus home, thank you. A single man in greater Los Angeles.