They said it wouldn’t be worth it to fix anymore. Not worth it? They just don’t know.
I’d known you for half my life. You watched me grow up, in a weird way.
I went from watching sing a longs in the backseat with revolving OM teams to driving around at all hours of the night.
I sat in Waffle House parking lots and even a liquor store one on Halloween. A long, not funny story. Not bad either. Just. A story.
You were the quirkiest car I’ll ever have. The lights turned on when we made left turns, locks locked and unlocked, a scar down the right side, and a missing handle that was a battle wound from the night you spent in a Denny’s parking lot. My car sounded like a go-kart.
Up until the end, I found door hangers in places all around the car.
I’ll remember you always.
I’ll remember going to drop off more walk packs, only having that one Janis Joplin cd and singing Me and Bobby McGee more that anyone should. And I’ll remember another election day, futiley saying, No, please don’t bring a wine glass into my minivan at 2 in the morning when I’m already past curfew, not supposed to be driving other people, and don’t have my license since I lost it a few months before and have been driving anyway.
Seriously. I’ll miss my minivan.