I realize, you know, that it's just a car. A metal shell with an engine and wheels. A fuel-sucking, carbon dioxide emitting car. Then why did I feel a sense of loss and sadness as I watched the car, incapacitated, being attached to the tow truck?
When I was a little girl, if I fell off of a counter top, I would worry about the floor and if I hurt it when I landed. I would worry about the cookies I was about to bite into, wondering if I was causing them pain. I would further worry about doors being slammed, barbies being sad when I cut off their hair, cats left out in the cold or hungrily mewing at the back door, dogs in the dog runs and unplugged Canadian cars.
It's not like it kept me up at night, these adolescent worries (although the Canadian car worry came later when I learned that they actually had plugs). And I cannot explain to you why I thought these things, I just did.
When I sold the Yota (my beloved Toyota Paseo, 1993, 200,000 miles) I felt lost. "If These Cars Could Talk" would be the name of the show. Break-ups, arguments with loved ones, angry and loving telephone calls, memories of Canada and Southern Utah, little white dog hairs left on the seats reminding me of my sweet puppers Yeti (best dog ever)! It seemed as if I was closing a book that I absolutely did not want to end.
Now this Jeep, my dad's Jeep that had a little breakdown on 4th South last night, it's not my car to romanticize. But we did drive (mom, dad, and I) to South Dakota to see my sister and her husband. It is the site of the notorious "Signing Monkeys" saga. It still smells, albeit vaguely, of the vitamin plant where my dad used to work.
We used to have a A VW Rabbit Convertible, a 1981, and we don't know how many miles it had on it because the odometer was broken, but my dad and I estimate well over 200,000. Pops said he was driving it one day, he parked it, and when he returned, it just didn't start. Never started again. It was as if the car gave up the ghost, saying, "You know what, I'm done now. I'm going to go to the great parking lot in the sky." And maybe that's what the Jeep said last night. "You know what, I'm 15 years old and have 293,ooo miles. I'm tired. And now I'm going to join the Rabbit. Peace, out."
No need to cry, Erin. It is, after all, only a car.
