The Rolet

The Rolet
For several years we survived well without a cah* on the Island — bicycling or walking three miles to the store and transfer station. There is a taxi service which we used once to go to the wedding of friends, Cheryl and Dave.
During the weeks of our summer vacation we have learned to make do with what we have until we can acquire the correct parts. Duct tape is one item we try to keep in good supply. We also maintain good relationships with our neighbors.
One summer, when Dave was the auto mechanic on the Island he asked my husband, Greg, for help moving a 1963 Chevrolet that hadn’t been driven for years. An elderly doctor’s wife wanted to give it to Dave — if he would just take it away. It didn’t run because the gasoline had sat too long and turned to varnish. 
A town ordinance prevented Dave from keeping more than a few cars in his yard. “Cheryl isn’t going to like it if I bring another cah back to the yahd,” he said, “especially one that doesn’t run.”  He looked at Greg. “Would you like to have it?”
Greg knew I would love to have a car on the Island –  one that ran. He declined to accept the gift but offered to let Dave pahk it in our yahd until his cleared out.
Cars have a way of becoming permanent lawn ornaments on the Island, and I was a little uneasy about having it in the drive-way for an unspecified period of time. But, like Greg, I wanted to help Dave.
The next spring, much to my relief, the cah which we  came to call the Rolet (pronounced row let) because the letters “Chev” had broken off the grill, was gone from our yahd.
When Dave and Cheryl invited us to join them for dinnah at a new Island restaurant, Greg and I walked the few miles to their house where we all climbed into the Rolet for a ride to the cafe.
We immediately noticed a few flaws Dave hadn’t had time to work on. Stuffing appeared through the worn upholstery, the back seat floated, there were no seat belts, a board covered a hole in the floor, the gas pedal was missing, and the rear view mirror flopped around. But it ran. All we had to do was brush the lint off our clothes before going into the restaurant.
We feasted on great food, lots of laughs, and piled back into the Rolet for the ride home after dahk. Dave turned the ignition and said, “Uh-oh, I am not sure we have headlights.” Cheryl suggested looking for a flashlight and opened the glove box. To our amazement there was one that worked! She rolled down the passenger side window and pointed the flashlight forward while Dave drove slowly down the road. Although inspection stickers are not required on Island cahs we hoped the police officer didn’t happen our way.
To be continued—
*Mainers do not pronounce “Rs” at the end of words and sometimes put them in where they don’t belong — i.e. Lindar.