I’ve recently been reminded of just how fast life moves.
And how quickly those we thought would be with us forever can be gone.
I’ve also recently experienced Skye’s sweet, secret guest post.
Which was a different kind of reminder, one that I need to memorialize the little things better.
So that, one day – heaven forbid – should one I love leave me, I’ll never forget the tiny details that made up our interactions.
Based on recent events, there was an obvious choice for said memorialization.
Ms. Dr. Chevy Lumina, if I may call you that, I adore you.
(It’s true I never bothered to actually name you, yet another example of my fickle love.)
And it seemed about time I told you so.
Let me count the ways.
How after the rain you leak on my left foot but never my right one, knowing I need that one to drive.
That after losing the right front speaker and then the left front speaker and then the back speaker emitting constant screeching that nobody else can tolerate you still allow me to use my radio.
That even though you don’t have an iPod connector, or a CD player, or even a tape player, you did come with FM radio.
(Did any of you used to use those CD players you could plug into your car’s tape player? My jealousy knew no bounds.)
That recently you fixed the turn signals and now I can push one on without holding it in place the entire turn.
That, despite whatever my dad believes, you have stood up well to your outdoor existence and have no a speck of rust.
(All the paint chipped off from the back are from that one time that guy rear ended me coming home from college for winter break.)
That when I take you to get repaired it’s been suggested that, though nothing’s wrong with you, it’s probably for the best I not drive you, which only solidifies our bond in the face of adversity.
That you were made in 1993, yet have never failed an emissions test.
No matter how many hitches I’ve driven it into, my front license plate, though arguably concave, has never fallen off.
(Parking was a struggle for a few years.)
(Until I stopped parking to the right.)
That over the course of our entire relationship, you’ve never had a right side mirror.
That, though your air conditioner has never worked, your heat, when given adequate preparation time, is still blowing, though in moderation.
I’ve driven you over 100,000 miles and you’ve never once let me down.
Ms. Dr. Chevy Lumina?
You’re my favorite.
Hold close the ones you love tonight
This time it was only a broken water pump
But no one knows the future,
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