A Man Without A Truck

My husband decided to sell his 1995 Toyota pick up. This was not an easy decision or one made rashly in the heat of the moment. He wavered, actually, like a sapling in a strong breeze. But, when he finally decided to sell the truck, he sucked it up like a man and put an ad in the paper.

After the third or fourth harrassing phone call, we figured out he should not have put OBO, "or best offer," in the ad. People called and asked what he had been offered for the truck, then offered LESS. One guy called us while he had the Kelly Blue Book pulled up on the Internet and wanted the "Dealer's Price." My husband told him we were going by the "Private Buyer's Price," which seems fair because that's what we were. We had a couple of calls after 9:30 p.m. Not even my parents call me that late at night, so who were these jokers calling about a truck? The weirdness went on. One guy in McMinnville (think Portland-area 4 hours away) wanted us to drive the truck up there so he could look at it. Another guy wanted to meet us in Waldport; he lived in Newport, 26 miles north, and didn't know where Yachats was. And so on. A neighbor offered $1,000 less than our asking price and we had almost resigned ourselves to taking the offer, but we held out.

Thursday night a guy drove down from Newport to look at the truck. He brought several people with him, including his 16-year-old son, the kid who was going to get the truck. He was a heavyset Hispanic man and he asked my husband to open the doors, put up the hood, crank the engine. He walked round and round the truck with his son and finally made an offer, $600 less than what we'd advertised, but he had cash in hand and my husband was ready to part with the 'Yota. The deal was done at our kitchen table. I heard the guy count out hundreds and the title was signed over. Sitting on the porch glider, we watched them drive away.

Did I detect a quiver of the lower lip? When I looked at my husband his face looked like a mask from a Greek tragedy. Well, it was a sad parting. My husband has never owned a new vehicle and the Toyota was the newest he'd had. He had the 4WD for five years and we had many good memories of trips taken in the truck. Like the trips up Forest Service roads into the Coast Range to let the dog romp in the woods when we were courting. Or the trip to California when we spent the night sleeping under the canopy in the back at a rest stop -- not the most comfortable night, but a memorable one, nevertheless. Every year in the fall, my husband would hook up his boat, load up the truck and take a week off work to visit his father in La Grande and his mom in Boise. Up until a few years ago, he and his dad would go catfishing on the Snake River and rough it like boys at a primitive camp site. They'd make cowboy coffee and eat beans for dinner, fishing all day and hauling big cats home. I remember the first time I rode in the 'Yota. My husband came to pick me up for our first date and seemed pleased when I complimented him on his rig. Backing out of my driveway on the way home, it ran into my land lady's fence, but no serious damage was done. He must have been bleary from the fog of love. Tee hee.

Not long ago, my husband sold his boat to a co-worker and got his asking price. Then, he had to pack up his workshop and put away all his tools. Next came the shedding of the job and, as of closing yesterday, he's given up his home of 18 years. I told him that it seems he's making a lot of sacrifices for this move, but he smiled and said it was worth it. It was his decision, early this year, to leave his job with the Forest Service and move to Florida. He was unhappy, miserable with changes in the program and the unnatural ways it was torqueing what should have been a pleasurable experience as a teacher. We'd made several trips to Florida and he had been impressed. We had land and my father would help us build. Maybe it was time to start over. We made the plunge and put the house on the market in April.

Yesterday, at the salon where I got my hair cut and colored, I saw an old friend, someone I hadn't seen in years. That's amazing, considering the small community here and the fact we only have one road to travel. I said hello and she did the same, there wasn't time to bring her up to date on all the changes. This was the friend who first suggested I visit the Oregon Coast back in 1996. I spent a week with her, saw the sights, and enjoyed her company. Six weeks later, I made the move to Waldport. We were close friends after the move and she helped me find a place to live and a second part time job. How weird to run into her a week before the move. It seemed I had come full circle and some kind of closure had taken place. It was a good feeling.

Next Friday we pull out with the U-Haul, towing the car, and the RV. Without the truck, our load will be a little bit lighter. I promised my husband that a new truck awaited him down the road and that made him smile. In the meantime, I'll be happy to share my little Focus when he needs some wheels.