My Niece is a Car

From Cynthia Lewis on American Thinker.com (Oct. 4, 2021):

-Satire-

My niece is a car.  She used to be a human being.  We're not supposed to talk about that anymore.

About a year ago, my sister Claire called and told me that she was tired of hand-sewing costumes for her oldest daughter, Alice.  One day Alice would beg to be dressed as a school bus, the next a pickup truck, and the next, a sports car.  She told her mom that she wished she were an automobile instead of a person.  Claire was running out of material and patience.

At first, Alice's behavior made sense to me.  She'd loved to play with toy cars when she was little, and she had a wonderful imagination.  I'll admit that I was one of the family members who found her new hobby cute.  Some thought it was just a phase and that we should humor her.  Others tried to convince her that she couldn't actually become a car.  And some tried to bolster her self-esteem by reminding her that cars are cool, but so are twelve-year-old human girls.

My doubts began when Alice asked that her body be covered with metal.  What about gymnastics? Claire asked.  You wouldn't be able to bend anymore.  Alice started to cry.  I don't want to bend, she said.  I want to zoom.

Claire reluctantly bought scraps from the junkyard and glued them onto her daughter each morning.  Alice couldn't walk as well when she had her panels on (as she called them), but she did seem to smile more.  When Claire pulled off the panels before Alice's bath one night, some skin came with them, and she bled.  Alice said that the pain was worth it and that she wanted permanent parts installed.

Soon after, Alice changed her name to Vroom.  Her homeroom teacher stood with his arm around her shoulder while her classmates chanted support for her automotive identity.  All 28 of them signed a pledge never to call her by her dead name again.  I was shocked when I saw the footage posted on the school website under "Student Achievements."

Then came the fines.  Vroom had checked out all the critical transportation theory books from the library.  Pages began appearing magnetized to the fridge, with lines of text obliterated by black marker and angry notes in the margins.  Claire found piles of ashes in the oven, wads of shredded paper in the trash can.  Even when the library fines were deducted from Vroom's allowance, she would not stop.

Vroom demanded that everyone she knew identify himself as human, car, or hybrid.  We all updated our email signatures.  I ordered replacements for my expensive business cards.  And when I phoned Vroom, I would say, "This is your human aunt."  It seemed obvious that I was human, but accommodating her didn't hurt anyone, I rationalized, and I wanted to keep her happy.

After coming home from a meeting of her automotive club one evening, Vroom announced she would sleep in the garage from then on.  When her parents said no, Vroom made engine-revving sounds and repeatedly crashed into the wall.  Her father, Bob, began moving her bedroom furniture.

I drove the 50 miles to my sister's house after Vroom and the other kids were asleep.  Claire and Bob and I sat around the kitchen table, staring into our coffee cups without drinking.  Claire broke the silence with whispered questions: why doesn't Vroom want to be a human being?  Why can't she simply play with cars instead of trying to become one?  What did we do wrong?  When will this end? [read more]

Cute!