Sally Jane / Mustang Sal by Sally Valentine

Ah, April, month of transitions. Snowmen melt into daffodils, clouds evaporate into sun, scarves and wool hats are shelved for umbrellas and baseball caps. And at the first sign of dry pavement on Canandaigua Road, Sally Jane shifts into Mustang Sal.

Sally Jane drives a gray SUV with a third seat in back and Disney princesses singsonging from the CD player. At least she thinks the SUV is gray; it hasn’t been washed in years. The license plate (there must be one) is buried under alternating layers of salt and mud.

Mustang Sal, on the other hand, tools around town in a yellow Mustang GT convertible with a black vinyl top. It sparkles as brightly as the gleam in her eye when she gets onboard. It has vanity plates that read MSTGSAL. There is no third seat (barely a back seat) and is off-limits to Anna and Elsa and Olaf. Tina Turner blasts from the side door speakers.

Sally Jane is a math teacher with directions written down on paper and a road map conveniently at hand. She always has a destination, although her most frequent trips are back and forth to the school, the grocery store, and the playground. Mustang Sal can’t be bothered with a road map or even a GPS. She never knows where she will turn up next. Definitely not at a kid’s playground.

Sally Jane drives carefully, obeying all the traffic signs and speed limits, being especially cautious in school zones. Mustang Sal puts the pedal to the metal and doesn’t look at the speedometer. She has a radar detector on the dashboard where Sally Jane keeps the wipes.

Sally Jane dresses for the weather and stores boots, blankets, and rock salt in the cargo area, just in case. Mustang Sal flies out of the house in whatever she happens to be wearing and barely remembers to bring her purse.

Sally Jane keeps the car windows rolled up year around. The only time she takes her eyes off the road is when she is checking on the grandkids in the back seat. Mustang Sal cruises around town with the top down, waving at all the teenage boys who want to race.

Sally Jane is heavy with the weight of responsibility. She carries the burdens of her job, the errands of her husband, and the schedules of her kids and grandkids around as extra passengers. Mustang Sal is light. In fact, she gets lighter with every passing mile, tossing out worries like pieces of banged up, mismatched luggage. By the end of the trip, she is completely weightless.

Look outside. The pavement is almost dry. Good-bye, Sally Jane. Hello, Mustang Sal.