I had Mom take this picture of me friday after I was done crying (the spot is on the film, not my car)
poem I wrote the previous weekend, when I cleared all my stuff out of my car.
I could tell I had a cry in me on friday, just waiting to get out. And I know it's ridiculous to cry over a car. But I really loved my car.
Out in the driveway sits my beautiful cute 1991 Toyota. Her name is Mab. She was a great car and I loved her. And her left tail-light, her bumper, and her trunk are all smashed in. She is injured, and I want her to be fixed.
"Totaled," they said. "We know you were just going to piano lessons and a Jeep that wasn't driving carefully in the snow hit you, and all you want is your car back, but we're going to take her from you."
On friday I decided to sweep her out and make sure she looked nice for when they took her away from me forever. I wanted to make sure they knew I loved my car and I took care of her and she would have lasted 10 more years if she hadn't been smashed. As I was sweeping, I just started bawling. I couldn't help it. I just kept thinking of how much fun I had with this car.
I thought of the fun times Christie and I had. Of how we'd take her out and get slushies and drive to the park, singing Alanis as loud as we could on our way there.
I thought of how we'd driven to the park one night to lay on her hood, look up at the stars, and talk.
Of how just a few weeks ago we drove around the whole town looking for Olive the Other Reindeer on video to no avail, and how we'd been eating buttermints and dropping them all over. I laughed then, and thought that I'd probably find buttermints in my car two years from now.
I thought of how I decided there weren't enough friendly honks anymore, so as we drove from town that same day, I honked little friendly "toot-toots" at nothing and everything. And how Christie laughed at me, and how I'd laughed at myself.
I thought of how when Lisa was home for a few short weeks this summer, she'd rainX'ed my car for me and how I marvelled at the little beads of water that formed on my windsheild (because I didn't know she'd done it). And how we parked the car out in the front yard and washed her together, and I made jokes, scolding my car for getting dirty.
I sat in the driver's seat and looked at my car's dashboard, shifter, and rearview mirror. I thought of first learning to drive. I thought of all the private sing-alongs we'd had. Of all my driving thoughts. Of all our trips to the library. So I cried and cried. I would miss my car. I would hate looking at an unfamiliar wheel and dashboard in whatever car we get to replace mine. I couldn't believe how empty my car looked without her crown of stars hanging from the mirror and giraffe-print steering wheel cover. I couldn't believe there weren't hundreds of empty water bottles in the back seat.
I finally came inside still crying. Christie heard me and hugged me and sat with me on the couch. She asked what was wrong, so I told her. She kept holding me, but laughed and said, "It's just a car, Julie." And I laughed and said, "I know, but I am still sad." So she just hugged me and sat with me.
It will be okay. But I would trade the newest nicest car in the world to have my little red Toyota and all her stories back to drive around in.