Trash Wagon

 In the car this morning, I went to set my coffee down and realized the HunniWagon was littered with detritus from our days. Bottles, snack wrappers, a cookie cake box, school papers, possibly a piece of dried mango. My week was spread through the car. 

I mumbled a complaint and Charlie chimed in, “But mom, it’s like the junk wagon!” 

“You mean the Trash Wagon.” I smiled to myself. 

My mom’s silver Datsun became known as the Trash Wagon. Melted crayon dotted its red fabric. Kittens had been born in the front seat. The seatbelts were frayed and there were candy bits stuck in the fluffy red carpeting. Honestly it was still cleaner than our van, but the Trash Wagon had a special something. I have foggy memories of the long drives to Disney World, picking at the melted crayon. I was very small during the Trash Wagon glory days, so I reached out Anna Kate for some more details.

“Well, I don’t remember any kittens being born in it. And thankfully I think it was only your Dad’s Porsche that ran over animals…the Porsche and random passersby on the “interstate of death” otherwise known as Cheatham Hill Rd. I do remember driving all over Cobb County in that car. It was a Datsun 810 if I remember right. With the nicest of cloth houndstooth print seats. Of course, we trashed them. I remember your mom just singing along to the radio tapping her fingernails on the steering wheel while driving us to the movies…probably going to see E.T.

Let’s not forget when we rode to Disney World laying down in the hatch area. Sadly we broke down 1/2 way there in South Georgia and had to take your cousins station wagon the rest of the way. Just left the trash wagon in tin buck two for repairs.”

I guess maybe I won’t clean out the HunniWagon. Not just yet.