I still drive the car my uncle gave me as a graduation gift back in 1992, when I finished high school. Back in the day I called her ‘Girlfriend’. Today she’s mostly called ‘The Old Hag’. Or, if behaving particularly badly, ‘That Cantankerous Bitch’. She’s a 1989, Mazda 323, four door sedan in speckled (now peeling) tan with a moon-roof. Her seats and dashboard are cracking, the floor is permanently stained and the trunk leaks. She had 15,000 miles on her when gifted to me and currently has 134,134.1 miles. (I just ran out and checked.)
The air conditioner no longer works. Or rather, it does, but knocks against the engine so badly and loudly, we took off the belt. I’ve had the radiator replaced once but it needs it again. She often overheats in the summer stop-and-go traffic making a 95 degree day even hotter when you have to turn on the heat to pull it off the engine. The struts, as it was once explained to me, are bending inward and could stand to be replaced. The shocks gave out a long time ago so you can feel every bump in the road. And she doesn’t have the pick up, ready-at-your-beck-and-call-just-step-on-the-pedal, she once had.
But I know her better than I know most people. I know exactly how long she takes to brake when I stand on her full weight. I know what top speed she can take any curve just by looking at at the road. By the shimmy in the steering wheel, I can tell you if she needs to go to the shop or if it’s just the stutter due from the scrapings at the bottom of her gas tank.
She’s taken me over those West-By-God-Virginia mountains in rain, snow and sleet. Usually at night when the mountains block out any light you could hope to get from the stars and moon. Making it safely to the family waiting to see me on the other side. I drove her to my college classes, earning the first degree on my father’s side of the family. To innumerable parties, clubs, midnight rendezvous with boys not worth my time, daytime trips with girlfriends I shoulda spent more time with, and tons of sucky jobs I’d rather forget I ever worked. She’s driven my favorite four-footed friend home from the shelter that rescued him. And then drove him to the vet 6 months later remove the bullet his previous owner saw fit to torture him with. She drove me back and forth to
I’ve loved this car. All the miles she’s carried me. All the adventures we’ve experienced.
Two years ago Steve and I had just started saving up money to replace one of our cars. When, just as Murphy’s Law dictates, his car died in a most permanent fashion. Not having the extra $10K difference between his convertible
We agreed to start over with the savings and in two years we’d get his convertible. Here it is, two years later, and the money is exactly where we agreed it would be. We’ve been looking forward to road trips and jaunts to the beach with the top down. Simply driving around town while we’re still at an age where it could look a little more cool than a little more fool.
But plans change. Or life changes. Maybe it’s more along the lines of: life changes the plans we’ve made. Whatever it is, the convertible is once again out. We’re going for something (much) cheaper but reliable. Something practical. And we’re going to try and hold off until next spring, to build up the cash reserves. But before the heat of summer, along with the heat off the engine, roasts me for another sweltering August.
We’re happy with that decision. Actually, we’re ecstatic about that decision. Because that decision, that car decision, means we’re one step closer to creating the family we’ve been wanting.
But I sure will miss my little round about town gal. My Girlfriend. My sweet, Old Cantankerous Hag. And I have nine more months to say my goodbyes to her.
Uncle Ron, I only wish I’d been given that kind of time to say my goodbyes to you.
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