“Shhh! Quiet!”
A woman’s voice in the dark directed me to squat down and be silent.
“It’s happening!” her male companion’s voice chimed in. “I’ve never heard of anyone witnessing this!”
In the pre-dawn dark of the parking lot, we all sensed we were about to behold the rarest of spectacles–the metamorphosis of a pupamobile.
“What stage is it in?” My heart was beating hard now, as I hid behind the hood of a black and yellow Mini.
“We’re not sure,” the woman replied. “We think it’s been going on awhile! The old skin is already starting to slough off!”
Sure enough, beneath the pupamobile’s old skin, wrinkly and starting to shed, a smooth and shiny surface was emerging.
Dyed-in-the-wool automobile enthusiasts only whisper at this apparition. Creepy as the appearance of the horseback-riding wraith of Sleepy Hollow, the transformation usually happens out of eyesight and earshot. Even the hardiest of auto devotees have not witnessed this event.
Like many insects, birds and mammals, automobiles have evolved sophisticated measures to guard against extinction. As a molting snake sheds its skin, certain automobiles secretly undergo metamorphoses and transform themselves. A pupa encapsulates a caterpillar in a chrysalis, leaving its adolescent life behind, transforming into a brand new kind of butterfly creature.
Likewise, this car was leaving its old form behind. The new form was emerging just beneath the tinfoil appearance of the old skin. The sweet smell of caramelized transmission fluid accompanied the mesmerizing transfiguration. A soft puff of air briefly kicked up dust as the reborn auto adjusted to its new springs and footing.
“I feel like I’m on the set of Invasion of the Body Snatchers!” the man whispered hoarsely to me.
I had to admit, it was eerie. There was no grind of metal on metal as one might expect. Instead, there was a gentle sound like the fluttering rustle of tinfoil and the transformative skin texture of something giving birth.
I’ve heard the rumors of such pupamobiles over from the whispers of those who claim to have witnessed strange happenings in junkyards and on remote street corners. Usually, the resulting machinery was hideous and ugly. 1957 Chevy Bel Aires with tiny undersized wheels and bouncy hydraulic suspensions. Ford Coupes, grotesquely jacked up and featuring oversized, monstrous, chrome-plated V8 engines. A rare exception was the Prius, the noblest pupamobile of them all, which evolved when a Toyota was sequestrated overnight too close to an electric trolley line.
But what freak of nature might emerge from this transformation?
I could only hope and pray for a miraculous metamorphosis, an automotive transmutation yielding value and substance.
A train whistle in the distance reminded me that I was about to be late to board my locomotion to the place of my employment. As I apologized to my friends that I would have to dash to the train, I left a final plea.
“The pope is in Cuba,” I whispered. “Have you seen that old thing he’s riding in?” The world-renowned Popemobile had definitely lost its luster. “Let’s pray this automotive transmogrification doesn’t morph into another worthless lowrider. Let’s pray for a miracle–a new Popemobile!”
“A new Popemobile!“ they murmured excitedly in unison. “Let’s pray!”
As I regretfully hustled away into the darkness, I glanced back at my new friends one more time.
In the dim light of dawn, I could barely make out their profiles, their outstretched fingers frantically crisscrossing their bodies with the Sign of the Cross.