I remember when my parents first purchased you. I was 8 years old and still recall that first whiff of your newness as I slid into the backseat. This was the first time in my life my family had owned a new car and it felt luxurious.
Many a road trip you took our little family of four. I remember sitting in the the backseat with my Gameboy Color playing Pokemon Yellow for hours as Dad drove us across the country.
I even remember driving home from one particular trip, to Grand Mesa. The whole family had gotten some terrible stomach bug, and Mom and I got it the worst. Eyes closed and paper bag in my hands, I did my best not to vomit at every bump and turn (as I totally grossed out my sister). Soon, though, you'd drive me home, to chicken noodle soup and my own warm bed.
You drove us to Holy Trinity for 5 years, my new school once Mom got her first teaching job there as the new 3rd grade teacher. There I'd meet some great kids who are still my best friends.
Once I finally got my driver's license, you drove me to my first job at AMC Theaters, where I learned that people are generally terrible and that the popcorn stench in your uniform is forever.
Yet the older you got, the more complicated our relationship became. As I bumped into inanimate objects while attempting to park in tight spaces, I learned how truly embarrassing my depth perception is. And in turn, sometimes your brakes were funky and other times you refused to start for a few minutes at a time-- but just as a false alarm (probably as payback).
Still, after many trips to the mechanic, you drove on. You drove me to both my first date and my first real break up. I remember the tears clouding my vision as we drove back home, away from my ex and a future that was no longer mine.
You drove me to my college graduation at CU Boulder, although your wipers gave out in the heavy rain.
The older I grew, the more unreliable you became, threatening to suddenly leave me alone to figure out adulthood myself.
You drove me to my first teaching job every morning in the not-so-pretty side of Denver. You drove me back and forth to an extremely chaotic and stessful environment of a failing school. In a world of instability and panic, you were a constant.
Those icy days were unforgiving, causing us to slip and slide all over the place. I still credit the St. Michael medal clipped onto my visor for us never slamming right into a mailbox or another car. One night, we got stuck together on an iced-over hill. Yet, thanks to prayers and my foot's gentlest push on the gas, we made it through.
When the chronic migraines took over, you took me to almost all my doctor appointments. However on my way to one of these appointments, you stopped working as soon as I backed out of the garage. Just like me having to unexpectedly quit my teaching career due to the pain, you unexpectedly shut down between the "reverse" and "park" gears. I would continue trying new treatments as you were towed away to also be fixed.
Somehow, we both kept going, even though we were increasingly weak and weary. Still, brighter times were ahead. You drove me to visit my boyfriend who could make me laugh and temporarily forget my troubles. You used to drive us both to Church every Sunday, but eventually he offered to drive us in his newer, more reliable truck. You'd stayed home as you could probably use the rest, and I could finally lean a little on another person. I learned sometimes it's ok to not always be Ms. Independent and that it's a sign of maturity to allow another do things for you.
Once our relationship became more serious and he popped the question, my biggest life transformation yet was coming. After the wedding, it somehow seemed that saying goodbye was the right thing to do. The final huge favor you did for me was drive me to my new home with my new husband.
Thank you for driving me safely through the dips and potholes and curves in life, well into my 20s. I'm both nostalgic for the past and nervous for the future: but it's time I take it from here.
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