Tuna Boat

I’m driving to the grocery store and suddenly I see something that makes me gush with overwhelming warmth and nostalgia. There she is – sitting under a large willow tree, the branches framing her in a perfect portrait.

I sigh. A slight hum of satisfaction escapes.

“There she is,” I say to the Whiffen child sitting in the back seat.

“What? Who, Mom?” the Whiffen child asks looking around.

“Tuna boat.” I Pause. “That’s her.” I say as if I’m in some sort of trance.

“Huh? I don’t see anybody. Whoa, Mom, why are you pulling over?” the Whiffen child says getting out of his seatbelt.

“For a photo.” I say with wispiness in my voice that’s almost haunting.

“Of who?”

“Her.” I say pointing to this.


The sun peeks through the shadows causing them to dance over the 1972 Buick LeSabre dressed in metallic Hershey bar paint with a hint of olive green. She is even longer than I remember. But just as homely and Austin Power-like.

I instantly recall the time I was 16 years old Tuna and I were speeding down a country road in Samaria, Idaho to meet my friends at the Dude Ranch. There was no moon and certainly no streetlights, only the faint sound of bellowing cattle in the black of night. I clicked on my bright lights so I didn’t accidentally hit one of those cows, and suddenly all the lights went off! I clicked again. Nothing! By the fourth click and near hyperventilation, all the lights finally came back on.

Like my shabby, but favorite bra, Tuna's always been there for me. Never letting me down. Her front passenger seat was a legend in the small town of Malad, and even smaller town of Samaria. An unsuspecting person riding in the passenger seat may have found it disturbing that the seat slid forward launching them into the windshield whenever we would come to an abrupt stop. But not my high school friends. Kids by the dozens started requesting front seat rides. We would start at the top of the hill and barrel down the rollercoaster back country road. Then, without warning, I would slam on my brakes, and everyone piled into the passenger side of the front seat was thrown with G-strength force into the windshield, their faces pressed against the glass in dramatic expressions. Boisterous laughing filled the car and steamed the windows.

All those tender memories are because of her.

“Mom, that’s a piece of crap!” says the Whiffen child, interrupting my pristine thoughts and even the dramatic music going through my head - Journey's "Wheel in the Sky"

“Get in the car! I need a minute by myself.” I wave him off.

He trudges back to the car. “Geez, Mom. That’s kinda weird.”

“Probably.” I mumble.

I pull out my iPhone and take a picture that I can carry with me always and share with everyone I know.

Because something as special as Tuna should only be remembered - forever.