About a week ago, my good friend's Ford Escort Wagon kicked the bucket. I was walking back to my room when I noticed that he had stalled out in the middle of a parking lot, so I went over to go help him out. Unable to get his car started again, we ended up pushing it into an empty parking spot, and my friend had it brought to a mechanic the next day to have it diagnosed. Unfortunately, his car was beyond repair; the next steps to be taken involved recovering his possessions from the car, and to scrap the vehicle.
So yesterday, my friend and I headed over to the mechanic to clean out his car, and on the way there, my friend said to me,
Matt, I just want you to know that you might see me cry today.
We both laughed at his joke, but oddly enough, we both knew that there was still some seriousness to it.
When we arrived at our destination, we proceeded to strip his car of all the items that he had accumulated over the years. I asked my friend why he had so much junk in his car, and he told me that he used to go to the dollar store every week with a friend, and they would buy anything that they thought was really cool or goofy. This event came to be known as "Dollar Store Wednesdays". I thought about that for a long time, and the act of dismantling his car started to develop a strange feeling. Each possession, be it valuable or a piece of junk, had some kind of sentimental value. When you think about it, everything in his car came attached with a memory, and the dismemberment of his vehicle signified the end of a period in his life.
When we were finished, my friend wanted to have one more moment alone with the Escort. He got into the driver's seat and just sat there, solemnly, making one last memory.
It was then that I walked over to my car, who I call "Brenda". I started thinking about the day when she would inevitably break down, and what that would be like for me. Like my friend, I too have had many good times and memories in that car. And the truth of the matter is that if I end up living in the city, which I intend on doing, I might never buy another automobile, which would make Brenda the only car I ever own.
I understand that because I tend to personify my car all the time, I may have grown more attached to it than most people, but Brenda has been a part of my life for 6 years, which is pretty significant considering how young I am. I estimate that she will probably last me a total of 10 years, and by that time I will be 26 years old. If you look at those numbers, that means that I will have had Brenda for more than a third of my lifetime. Can you think of anything that has been in your life for that long? A stuffed animal maybe? I mean sure, they are inanimate, but when something has been a part of your life for so long, it's hard to imagine not having it around.
I tend to joke that Brenda is "the most reliable woman I've ever met", but there is some truth to that statement. Her and I have gone through a lot, and I consider her to be my noble companion. When she's gone, I'm going to miss all of our times of adventure.
Saying goodbye to my friend's car was oddly emotional, and I feel as though it will be very somber and melancholy when Brenda's time comes. I'm going to miss her, I really am.
</3 I can relate to what you're saying. I feel bad for him. Cherish Brenda. And feed her properly!
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