It's funny, I've been driving my kids to school every morning for the past six years and never once took notice of the cars in the parking lot, but now that my oldest has his license, that's all I look at. I can't help but glance over at the high school student lot, after I drop my daughter off at middle school. I'm always quick to pick out Connor's car, it's so distinct. A red Jeep Wrangler with black doors. The tire on the rear door proudly proclaiming, "Life is Good" and it certainly is. So many students have cars now, lots of pickup trucks, sedans, family hand me downs and even a mini van. I smile when I pass Connor's car because it reminds me of my first car. The car I drove to school when I was in high school and picked up as many friends as I could possibly fit. The car that was the envy of many and still comes up in conversation often. My car was perhaps the coolest, most recognized car in the high school lot. A gold Pontiac Firebird with mag wheels, a wide black stripe down the middle and a wing on the back. Stepping into the car was like getting into a low slung beach chair. The seats practically kissed the pavement. The long nose made me feel like a race car driver, staring down it's stripe, as if I were on course to break all kinds of speed barriers. Back then, everyone did not have a car. I was fortunate enough to have four older siblings and so, I inherited my oldest brother, Frank's car. He was eight years older than me and as such, had long since moved on from the Firebird. Both of my older sisters, Karen & Eileen, had a stint with Queenie; as a matter of fact, they were the ones to name the car. I believe they named the car after my Aunt Theresa's car, an antique, black, something or other, whose only similarity with the Firebird was that it was old.
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I was the last of the Casal's to have Queenie. I drove her every day I could, junior and senior year. I remember jamming half the tennis team into the car and driving them home, the back of the car was so low, it was actually scraping the ground, ahhh...what a ride!!! I can still see the look on friends faces when they had to tell me someone hit my car in the lot. The school was a buzz with this terrible news. I was so horrified, I left the school to check on Queenie, (something I could have gotten in a lot of trouble for). She was fine, a specimen of strength and resilience, either that, or the hit was merely a tap that got grossly exaggerated. Never the less, it was the talk of the school for the entire day. Queenie was cherished by many, not just her owner. She would live to continue her escort service for many more days.
As one can imagine, as she aged, there were days she would need some work and my mother would let me drive her Pontiac, Grand Prix. The Grand Prix was considerably newer and nicer, but I longed for the Firebird. While others knew how lucky I was to have either a super cool sports car or a new Grand Prix to drive, I was not as aware of my fortitude. When I went away to college at Green Mountain, in Vermont, my parents would not allow me to take Queenie, for fear she would break down in the mountainous, winding landscape of western Mass or Vermont. I was so disappointed. I resented having to take the Grand Prix. Friends would write and tell me they saw my five foot tall mother, tooling around in my sports car and only the vision of that would make me smile. I'm sure she hated driving the Firebird as much as I hated driving the Grand Prix. After my first year away at school, it became apparent that Queenie's time was up. As we prepared to sell her, I can still remember feeling as though I would never again own a car that would achieve the acclaim, Queenie did. This venerate vehicle made her mark amongst the class of 1980 WNHS students. She was a landmark in the lot and a timepiece in my life.
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