Head out on the highway.
Lookin’ for adventure
In whatever comes our way....
This song is on automatic re-play in my head whenever I step into my brand new, shiny, smooth-riding car. I like the soft click click-ing noise as I make a left or right to travel to my next destination. I actually don’t mind driving here or there. Hey, you want a ride somewhere? Hop in.
Okay, so maybe my 2008 black Malibu doesn’t turn heads and drop jaws like I think it should when I cruise through town. Maybe hormonal teenagers aren’t even begging me to borrow my car for that long-awaited high school milestone they call Prom.
But one thing I do know is that this new hunk of metal waits patiently in my driveway at my every beck and call. My others did too, but there is something pleasantly different about this one.
My first love was a 1992 silver Infinity. He had a few rattles and dings, but to me he shined like the sun after a grueling dark winter. Like Brad on The Bachelor with all his women, we had a “real connection.” He waited for me faithfully in the high school parking lot day after day through the blistering heat and the frigid cold. He carried me home after late nights and the emotion-filled days of being a teenager. We bonded over a few flat tires, a mud soaked ditch, and a collision into my sister’s Nissan. He was the one. Or so I thought.
The decision for me to go off to college troubled things. We didn’t get to spend as much time together and we were drifting apart. One sad, sad, day….. my dad called me while in the dead heat of Bloomington and broke the news:
“I gave your car to Goodwill,” he said.
A piece of me had been given away for a tax break. That hurt. Time and the transit bus eventually healed things, but I still think of all the good times we had together.
One hopeful day, along came a 2006 interestingly blue Pasat. A rebound if you will, COME ON we all have them.
I didn’t put myself out there as much with this one, for fear of getting hurt again. My relationship with this one remained only surface deep. After leaving me stranded in the freezing cold stadium parking lot, in the middle of a busy intersection, and multiple trips to the service center, he just didn’t seem very trustworthy. It was like he was hiding a rusty secret.
Call me heartless, but I just used that thing. No strings attached. Made it easier that way, ya know. It made it easier when I got the news.
“I’m selling the car,” Dad said.
How was I ever supposed to commit?
“There are other cars in the lot,” people told me. (sigh) Easy for them to say.
Then one day, I got a phone call for a blind date. I was bored and sick of bumming rides so I thought, why not?
He showed up in my driveway and it was love at first sight. We bonded and I think our future together seems pretty bright and promising.
This is my FIRST car in MY name. I make the payments, and I call the shots.
Even though my dad still tells me that I need to "wash that thing" or asks me when the last time I checked my oil was, I have the confidence of knowing that my new love isn't going to be ripped from my life unexpectantly.
Owning a car means responsibility and I'm proud to call it my own.
