My best friend reminds me of my grandfather's 1970 Volkswagen. With the turn of a key, the hint of a suggestion, he roars to life. His mouth purrs like an engine and his entire body vibrates with excitement. But you have to keep your foot firmly pressed on the gas or he'll stall out at the first red light. The alignment is off, so you have to use all your strength to keep him on the road and out of the ditch. The exterior of my friend is a bit scratched up, and he gets strange looks as we cruise through the school. But the inside is as cozy as ever and the garish orange seatcovers of his heart cannot hide the beauty of the originals beneath.

Getting inside my friend can be a problem. The door locks by itself at any hint of animosity and my rusty old key can sometimes be a tight fit. You have go in the back door and climb over the benchseat to get to the steering wheel and the control that it provides. c