Dear Old Car,
I’m sorry I sold you to a strange junk yard man for an offensively low price (and then immediately hit up the thrift store for fall dresses before an appropriate length of time had passed). And I’m sorry you had to see me with that young, hot, royal pearl blue model during your final weeks here.
I could explain my reasons, but what’s the use? I’d rather use this opportunity to thank you for all the good times, and to remember.
I’ll never forget the day Dad brought you home as a gift for Jenny and me to share. You winked at me as you sat waiting there for us, glistening beneath the sun in all your candy apple red glory. It was the day after I finished eighth grade; I couldn’t even drive yet. But I already knew exactly what your arrival meant: my real life was about to begin.
I was right. Nothing has ever changed my life as much as you did.
You’ve taken me to every job I’ve ever had, to every boy I’ve ever fallen in love with (remember how we used to sneak out after curfew?), to every state I’ve ever moved to, and home again for every holiday. You let me have a full, happy life.
Even our frustrating moments are hilarious in retrospect. Like how I almost crashed you during my driver’s test but still managed to pass with the lowest possible score. Or that time the car shop accidentally installed an alarm in you that went off every three seconds and made me homicidal with rage. Or that four-year period when I had to park you under that nasty pine tree and you were perpetually covered in pine needles and pools of sap that looked like bird shit.
I hope you will remember me as being as good to you as you were to me, even though I only cleaned you out approximately one time (last week). I felt guilty as I discovered countless hardened French fries, mysterious burn holes, and an open bottle of alcohol wedged underneath your passenger seat (is there something you never told me, Old Car?) I did not find the source of the rotting smell. I guess you will always get to keep that as your own little secret, you sneaky thing.
Maybe I should have been there in that final moment when the junk yard man towed you away. Do you know where I was instead? Hiding. Because I couldn’t watch. How could I? You were my best friend. You knew more about me than anyone—my most private thoughts, how I spent my time, my secret love of anything Daughtry or Pitbull.
I didn’t want it to end with us, Old Car. I just knew, on that day last spring when the Midas man raised you up to show me how your innards had been chewed apart by rats, that you and I had finally reached the end of our road.
“Maybe it wants to retire,” Doug tried to console me as I sobbed at the thought of letting you go.
I hope so. I hope you have an amazing time on that big, open road in the sky. Whenever I smell the vague scent of something rotting, I’m going to smile and know you are still winking down at me.
Thanks again, for everything.
Love,
J-Bo
Parting is such sweet sorrow.
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チカ ちょっとずつステップクリアしましたね うちは子の間テディベアピクニックというのが公園であって サンタさんが来ました タイは会う前からチカのように張り切って サンタのひざのうえに座るとか お願いすると張り切って どうなるかなーと思ったら タイはその通りやってましたー あいつ強いぞー タイが”Can I have a Spiderman costume plasee?”と言うとサンタが”It’s all sorted.It’s already in my sack”と言ったそう そして”You can have 2 things”とか これはちょっと余計 笑 言ったらしい もしくはタイが勝手に作って私達に言ったか それとは反対にJJ 菊のように怖がっていました 去年はひざの上に座っていたのに 今年は近づこうともせず 私の腕にぎゅーーーーとつかまってしました 近づけようとしようもんなら さらにぎゅー顔をぐちゃぐちゃにして泣きました 結構おもしろがってた私よー マイアもちょっと怖がっていましたよ 小さな声で”I would like scrapbooking stuff plasee”って そうしたらサンタ”Are you sure?”だって 5歳にしてSBスタッフが欲しいって 少しずつ買いだめして私の部屋に隠しています チカはマイアと似てる マイアは毎週金曜の夕方に行っていたクリケットのゲーム 先週と今週だけ泣きませんでした 試合中に泣くのよ 行く前は やったークリケット楽しみー って言ってるくせに 試合中に泣く 毎日泣く を繰り返していました やっと泣かなくなったと思ったら もう終わり という 先週まではもう次のタームはサインアップしないと言っていたのに 昨日はまた次もやると言っていた また来年になったら変わっているかも なおpさんの写真どれもステキよぉ 心温まります yoko
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So that’s the case? Quite a revelation that is.
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There’s nothing like the relief of finding what you’re looking for.
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I think you could make a living writing eulogies!
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This almost made me cry, thinking about my old car—the one that got me through life after divorce, the one I slept in (the backseat b/c the front didn’t recline) between classes when I returned to college as a non-traditional student, the one that had enough engine power to save me when some nut tried to run me off the freeway, the one envied by young men who pulled up next to me at stoplights and asked, “wanna sell your Cutless?” (it had power, that car). Mine didn’t go to the junkyard, though. I practically gave it away to one of those young men who planned to fix it up (it needed a lot of engine/body work that I just couldn’t afford, and it got only 8 miles to the gallon) and probably race it. I never got a replacement. Who could replace a car like that? It was a “76—a classic. I still miss it. Thanks for the memories.
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Love it!! I hope it is a comfort to know that your car lives on. That’s kind of cool that it got to be re-born into a racing life. So sweet that you can’t replace it- I, on the other hand, am starting to feel guilty about how quickly I’ve moved on. Thanks for sharing!
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You crack me up. Love it.
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Thanks!
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Totally sympathize with this. Cried like a baby when I got rid of Baby Car. 14 long years.
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You gave it a great life!
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This was great… Even I miss your old car FOR you right now! Lol. Love these “Dear [object]” posts!
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Thanks!!
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My car died a year into our relationship. We were just getting to know each other but I could tell we had a real connection – we understood each other, even after such a short time. Goodbye little red car. Your manual choke took some getting used to and you shook every time we went on the motorway but you didn’t mind when I drove you around late at night because the music on the radio was too good or I was too angry/upset about some stupid teenage thing to go home yet. I have never been able to replace you.
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Young car death is so tragic. We are experiencing that with my boyfriend’s car right now. It’s about quality of time over quantity. Hope there is something shiny and new in your future.
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