November 28^th, 2005

 

Something terrible has happened.  A great light has gone out.  On Sunday, November 27^th, the Green Hornet perished on Interstate 40 just about 30 miles from the North Carolina/Tennessee boarder. 

 

I was with G.H. when she took her last breath… when her insides betrayed her… when that awful wheezing grind heralded her passage… 

 

I still don’t know how to feel about it.  I’m somewhat numb at this point. 

 

I have faced death before.  I have lost those I’ve cared about, and I’ve even come close to dying myself.  I still remember that freezing night on Mount Fuji when I could see nothing but the distant lights at the top, and feel nothing beyond the shifting lava sand beneath my bare fingers.  I remember my lungs rebelling against the lack of oxygen at that altitude, and I remember the drastic emotional shifts between fury and resignation. 

 

It was only when I couldn’t climb anymore, only when my sweat-drenched clothes ceased to burn me with frost, that I laid back on the side of that mountain and accepted the end.  It was my fault, after all.  I was the one too impatient to stay with our Japanese guides.  I was the one who left the path and took off alone.  I was the one that figured I could reach the ceiling of Asia much faster if I broke the rules.

 

Obviously, I didn’t die.  The sound of nearby voices eventually trailed to my ears, and I found the strength to keep climbing, to keep living, to find those who would keep me from freezing to death. 

 

The sunrise that followed was the most beautiful I have ever seen, and I stood there with a blanket around my shoulders watching the miracle of the dawn.  The country of Japan was laid out in misty fog, its towns and villages almost unnoticeable amidst the landscape itself, a vast gray blanket tossed carelessly upon the earth.

 

Ah, but it was not my survival that I was thinking of just now.  No, it was my acceptance.  It was those twenty minutes or so when I lay back and watched the stars.  I knew it was over, but I couldn’t harbor regret because- even at the ripe old age of 24- I knew I had lived a full life.  There were too many good times behind me to lament those ahead, and it is within this mindset that I must now deal with the loss of someone cherished.

 

G.H. was my friend, she was my ally, she was my judgeless compatriot.  No matter how bad I treated her, she was always ready and willing the next morning, always game for a new adventure. 

 

Ours was not a perfect relationship by any means, but at this moment it’s hard to see the bad things as truly “bad”.  Moreover, I think I had come to love her faults as much as her resiliency.  Call me old fashioned, call me sentimental, but I loved the way I had to jiggle the steering wheel to get the ignition to work.  I loved the way the windshield wipers would come on for no reason.  I loved the temperamental radio and the static-prone speakers.  And yes, I even loved the way she wouldn’t start if it rained too much.

 

Sure, I missed a few workdays on account of her.  Sure, I had more than one girl break a date because she refused to, quote, “Ride in this Aqua Green death trap”.  But G.H. knew when to be fickle and when to go balls deep, and she didn’t care about things like car washes, or oil changes, or lemon scented Armor All. 

 

G.H. was there when I jumped a washed-out bridge in Alligator Mississippi.  She was there when my Organic Chemistry professor caught me setting fire to his Christmas decorations.  She was there when the Cleveland Posse tried to chase me down after the infamous “Shit-a-Pult” incident of 1998. 

 

And the cops… Oh, how they tried.

 

I can’t tell you the number of times I would see a blue and red lighted Crown Victoria do a U-turn in the road, only to pull over on the side of the interstate once G.H. had unleashed the fury.  I redlined her so many times, boys and girls.  And she never complained.

 

People said I was a fool not to get the air conditioner fixed.  They said I was mad for tossing away the parts that fell from G.H.’s undercarriage.  But none of them knew us.  They didn’t understand our bond.

 

Perhaps only now do I genuinely understand it myself…

 

The Green Hornet always had my back, and even though she almost killed me when the engine seized yesterday, I hold no grudge.  I think G.H. knew she wasn’t long for the world, and she simply wanted me to go with her into that next place.

 

I would’ve, my love.  But it’s not my time.

 

Today at Murray’s auto repair, I started crying when the owner- Wayne Murray- told me there was nothing he could do.

 

“Engine’s shot, Mr. Descado.  I could replace it with a used one for $1500 or so, but that’s gonna be more than this old Honda’s worth.”

 

Now, Wayne was a pretty nice redneck, and one I would’ve normally respected, but I slapped him anyway.

 

“Are you crazy?!?” he wailed, but I went on to smash his bearded face to G.H.’s hood.

 

“No, Billy Bob, YOU’RE the one who’s crazy!  You feel that metal?  You feel how cold it is?  There’s no life in this perfectly manufactured masterpiece of steel and brawn!”

 

“Get off of me!”

 

“Not until you lick the hood!  You lick this empty shell, Wayne, and then you tell me how the fuck a new engine is gonna make a difference!  If you can taste her spirit in there, then I’ll pay whatever you want.”

 

“Stop it!  My wife and I are trying to have kids!”

 

Having used a “from behind crotch grab” to prevent resistance, I let go of Wayne’s scrotum and neck to let him stand upright.

 

“I’m sorry, Wayne.  My emotions got the better of me.”

 

But the portly Mr. Murray was already running back towards the office to call the cops, and it was all I could do to rip off one of G.H.’s windshield wipers and hurl it with all of my might.  It landed with a * thud * in the back of Wayne’s neck, a crimson fountain spurting with heartbeat repetition.

 

There was a moment of silence as the auto shop dealer fell to the concrete, and then I turned to put my hand on the G.H.’s right front headlight.

 

“Even in death,” I whispered, “You’ve got my back.”

 

There was, of course, no response.  G.H. had long since fled this world of pain and misery.  All that was left, was her chasse.

 

“I know you can’t here me, but I love you.  In the time we had together, you- completed me…”

 

That’s how I left it.  That’s how we parted ways.

 

With his blood pumping out to form a widening pool, I strolled over to Wayne’s corpse, then pulling his wallet out to claim the hundred and fifty dollars he had offered me earlier for G.H.’s body.

 

“Take her then, my dead friend.  But do so knowing that she will never be yours.  This chapter in the Green Hornet’s saga has gone beyond junk heaps and trash compactors.  It passes now… into legend.”