This article has been updated to reflect my son Diego’s name and pronouns. I honor his transition and have revised the story to align with who he is today.
“What have you got planned for the next five minutes,” Zane asked his son as their paths crossed in the cluttered dining room. Diego paused, as if he had just been asked a trick question. He was on his way to the kitchen to return a dirty plate. After a moment he uttered the word “nothing” in a strangely cautious tone.
“Well that’s good,” Zane explained. “I want to show you something outside!”
Diego nodded in agreement and said he would get his shoes on.
“You do that, and I’ll meet you out there!” Zane said, his tone confident yet commanding. His intention was to teach Diego how to diagnose a broken car.
As expected, Diego joined his father outside. He strolled down the pathway leading to the car park as Zane instructed him to climb into the passenger seat. Zane held the door open for him. Diego did as he was asked while his father began explaining the situation.
In preparation, Zane had already removed the glove compartment and various panels, revealing the vehicle’s Electronic Control Module.
“Do you see all of these wires sticking out?” Zane asked. Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “These wires connect with the car’s computer.”
“What’s the computer do?” Diego asked with genuine curiosity.
“It does everything,” his dad replied without hesitation. He explained how the ECM is the brain for all the electronic circuitry, and without it the car won’t run.
It was about this time that Zane said, “I want you to reach over and start the engine.” He motioned to the dangling key chain with a quick flick of his arm.
Without hesitation, Diego rotated his torso so he could reach the ignition switch with his right hand. As he twisted the key, the obedient engine fired and coughed. It took a second, but the car came to life as it sat in the driveway that had become its tomb.
Zane looked at Diego as if to say, Now pay attention. Then he produced a vintage flashlight from under the seat. Diego, expecting his dad to illuminate the work area, was surprised when Zane began striking the large electrical connector with the business end of the flashlight.
“The batteries are dead,” he explained as he continued tapping on the computer. “I’m just using it for a hammer.”
Diego nodded as he listened. His dad explained that the car had a stalling problem—something caused it to stop running intermittently. The car ran great until it hit a pothole or speed bump. Sudden jolts caused the engine to die.
An experienced automotive technician would know this was indicative of loose wires or a short circuit. Diego correctly assumed his dad was thumping on the wiring harness to simulate a bump-in-the-road scenario. In theory, tapping on the ECM would cause the engine to die, indicating the problem lay within the circuitry.
For the time being, the test was ineffective because no matter how he tried, Zane couldn’t get the engine to stall.
If it had been any other car, she would have been scuttled for parts by now, but somehow Little-Toot deserved better. “Little-Toot” was the name of the vehicle.
As his dad fiddled with the flashlight, Diego noted a stagnant pool of brackish water that had accumulated due to dried-out weather-stripping. The lingering smell of mold was undeniable, but neither of them mentioned it.
In a helpful tone, Diego said, “Maybe we should get a car cover, like for the motorcycle?”
It was a valid question. A decent cover would have only set them back about a hundred bucks. Zane silently asked himself why he hadn’t made the investment yet, but he couldn’t come up with an answer. Instead, he responded with a grunt and a stern look.
Diego knew he had struck a nerve because his father became dismissive when he was hurt. Historically, triggers like these would send Zane into a manic fit. But this time, he tuned back in and returned his attention to the task at hand.
“Where did I leave off?” he silently asked himself. “Oh yeah.” He remembered he was teaching his son how to fix a car if it breaks down.
Zane clung to latent insecurities about his mental illness because he could suddenly “check out” and lose focus. This was one of those times. After an awkward moment, he looked up at Diego as if he had hurt him somehow. He didn’t want his son to absorb his shame.
As if to gently remind him, Diego said, “You were telling me about looking around under the hood for loose connections, and bumpy roads.”
Zane struggled to retain his composure as he continued rapping against the ECU. His son’s confidence was contagious, and it sparked a fascinating revelation.
It was at this instant that Zane realized the engine hadn’t died. Who knew how much time had passed, but the car was still running! It was as if the internal circuitry responded to Diego’s presence in an effort to say hello.
In fact, Little-Toot hadn’t sounded this good in years. The notorious rattle of the worn valve lifters had vanished, as had the loping that indicated a misfiring cylinder. It was as if Little-Toot was her old self again.
“It should have stalled out by now,” Zane exclaimed.
The duo shared a measurable, optimistic electricity because Little-Toot was purring like a kitten.
Despite the excitement, Zane tried to be cool. For some reason he always stifled his own joy—perhaps he equated it with mania. He squelched his happiness out of fear of appearing foolish.
In a brave attempt to shunt his own enthusiasm, he abruptly commanded Diego to “turn it off!”
Diego did as he was told.
Suspecting the car wouldn’t start again, Zane instructed his son to hit it one more time. Diego turned the switch again. The BMW roared to life.
Zane was internally ecstatic, but he tried not to show it.
“That’s why I brought you down here,” he told his son. “I knew you had the magic!”
There was a gleam in Diego’s eye that couldn’t be dampened by the bright winter sunlight. With an elusive grin, Zane exclaimed, “It kind of makes you want to take a ride, don’t it!”
In a rare display of youthful enthusiasm, he told Diego to turn it off and on again one more time. The engine fired upon command.
“That does it,” Zane said. “We’re going for a drive! I think it’s fixed!”
He had come to this conclusion because he had removed the electrical harness earlier that day to apply a liberal dose of electronic contact cleaner. Perhaps the chemical treatment had dissipated some invisible corrosion.
“Could that have alleviated the problem?” he wondered.
Sadly, the moment was short-lived. Zane suspected the problem was more severe than a loose connection when he noted an erratic oscillation from the tachometer.
At first the needle fluctuated violently, indicating the engine was being revved even though it wasn’t. Then it settled at three thousand revs. Then seven. Suddenly it began oscillating wildly again, landing at random points on the dial like a Ouija Board planchette spelling out a cosmic message.
Zane pointed this out to Diego and added that he had never seen this happen before.
By now the tachometer needle was pegged at the red line, but the engine was only idling modestly.
“This is an indication that the computer is still at fault,” Zane concluded rationally. But the metaphysical part of his brain suggested the car had a life of her own. Maybe Little-Toot was communicating from beyond the veil, using the electrics as a conduit. Perhaps it was her way of saying, “Hi Diego… I missed you!”
Whatever the reason, Zane knew it wasn’t prudent to take the vehicle out on the highway. To prove this to himself, he grasped the flashlight again.
He drew a deep breath and tapped the computer one last time. Upon impact, Little-Toot’s engine abruptly cut out, followed by a deafening silence. The magic had departed as quickly as it arrived.
He glanced at Diego as if to say, It was fun while it lasted.
He explained that the vehicle still wasn’t roadworthy. They would have to take her for a drive another day. Diego understood, judging from the look on his face.
In that moment, he learned how his dad must have struggled to keep the cars running over the years. More importantly, he realized how fortunate they had been.
The tattered BMW had been their primary transportation for several years, and she seldom faltered. Thanks to proper maintenance, Little-Toot had faithfully burned up many miles, but now she was suffering.
In a solemn tone, Diego said, “I learned how to drive in Little-Toot.”
After a small silence, Zane noted that Diego had also been twice returned from the hospital in the rusty car—once when he was first born, and another when he nearly died from pneumonia.
“It was also Little-Toot that drove us to Oregon for our honeymoon,” Zane recalled, an authentic smile flashing across his weathered face. He went on to remind Diego of another meaningful journey—the one where Renee and Diego drove up to Seattle together a few years earlier.
Little-Toot had been sitting in the rain, neglected, for more than three years at this point. It was akin to a Greek tragedy because the repair would have been painfully simple. It would literally take Zane about ten minutes to complete the task; but now money was the problem.
A replacement Motronic Electronic Control Module would cost them an arm and a leg. The black box would set them back $1400. They were simply too poor to afford it.
The car had unfathomable sentimental value, but now she was a literal mess.
…To be continued
*originally posted 1/15/2022, updated 05/27/2026
