Horizons


When I was 6 years old my parents bought a new car. A blue two toned Plymouth Horizon. Modern day standards would liken this vehicle to a slightly more dignified version of the Ford Festiva. The aroma of fresh upholstery invigorated my young senses as I proudly sat in the driver’s seat the first day it was in our driveway, pretending to chauffeur the neighborhood kids around town to all of the hot spots.

We had the car for twelve years. The Horizon faithfully carried my brother and I to soccer games, tap dance classes and orthodontist appointments. One Christmas day our whole family piled into the Horizon for a five hour trip to visit loved ones when our other car refused to start in the early morning sub zero temperatures. With luggage stuffed in every crevice, fogged windows from the moisture of our breath, and the gift of a bird feeder for my Auntie Hazel sitting on my mother’s lap, the Horizon safely ferried us to our holiday destination.

In high school the Horizon was the car of choice as my friends I hit the streets to help the Students Against Drunk Driving club tie red ribbons on car antennas to remind people to not drink and drive. Did I really think that tying red ribbons on cars would stop anyone from drinking and driving? Did I firmly believe that anyone stumbling out of a party or bar and dizzy with drink would see the flimsy red ribbon tied on the antennae of their car and say to themselves, “Whoa. I’ve had a few too many. Better not drive tonight.” Understandably, the red ribbon was a sign of support but did this have an effect on the bottom line of drinking and driving? Back then, cruising around in the Horizon on our crusade it all seemed so clear. Now I’m not so sure.

Nevertheless, I proudly tied several of those ribbons on the Horizon. With unwavering conviction, I told my Mom it would help her find the car in a crowded parking lot. We lived in a town of 8,000 people. We had one grocery store. We had one gas station. A fast food restaurant finally cropped up when I was in high school. Finding our car in a crowded parking lot was not a problem because there were no crowded parking lots. Even if we ventured out to bigger towns and actually found ourselves in a crowded parking lot, the fact that we had a blue two-toned Horizon pretty much helped us narrow down where we parked the car.

Years after the Horizon, with its cracked frame and broken passenger side door, was hauled off to the junk yard, I found myself inspired by the car I had lovingly named Lil’ Blue. As I barreled down a two-lane highway near the remote desert town where my husband and I lived during his military career, I saw another car off in the distance. A true rarity for this part of the world. My mind shifted from the numbness brought on by the barren landscape to the car speeding towards me. Could it be a Porche? A Ferrari? A Corvette? As the car approached and then raced by my mind did cartwheels at the awe of the sight. It was a blue two-toned Horizon. For a brief moment I could only wonder if it was Lil’ Blue, if it had survived the junk yard and made a miraculous recovery all those years ago. I quickly realized that it could not be true. This one actually had a muffler and the horn wasn’t blaring away uncontrollably at the speed of 60 miles an hour.