On Friday night, Terry’s car left us forever. It was a sad time for us me. I’ve said before that I get ridiculously attached to things, especially cars, so I may have gotten just a little bit misty-eyed as I walked past it that night and thought, “This is the last time I will ever lay eyes on you, oh good and faithful servant! Well, ‘good and faithful’ except for that time you dumped us on the motorway at 11pm in the rain, and then refused to ever work again, obviously.”
As it turned out, I was wrong about the whole “last time ever” thing, because when I glanced out of the window an hour or so later, the men who’d bought it were still out there trying unsuccessfully to push it onto the back of a pickup truck. In the end Terry had to go outside and spend 30 minutes helping them push, so that made the whole thing a little less sentimental, to be honest, but hey ho. So, the car is gone, but not forgotten. It was the car that saw us through the first seven long years of our life together in this house (because, yes, it was THAT OLD.) It was the car we had when we got married. It was the car that took us on dozens of happy days out, and it was the car that drove Terry to hundreds of dialysis sessions and hospital appointments. (Well, I mean, Terry drove it, and sometimes I did. It didn’t drive itself: if it could’ve done that, there’s no way we’d have sold it.) It was the car that got pulled over by the police three times in as many weeks, because they were convinced we’d stolen it. It was the car Rubin once had really explosive diarrhea in on the way back from…oh no, wait: that was MY car, wasn’t it? Gah.
What I’m trying to say is: we will miss it. Or I will, anyway. It was a good car – when it wasn’t breaking down on the motorway, obviously. Its replacement, meanwhile, will hopefully be joining us at some point this week. I’ve decided that this time I WILL NOT GET ATTACHED. This will not be like that time when I was a child and I refused to speak to my parents for a week because they’d sold a car I’d viewed as an integral part of our family. Oh hell, no. It is JUST A CAR. Just. A. Car. I will be friendly but detached. Yes. Just you watch me.
“They don’t make cars like they used to
I wish we still had it today
The love we first tasted
The good life we’re still livin’
We owe it to that old ’57 Chevrolet”
~ Billy Jo Spears, ’57 Chevrolet
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