My Worn-Out Car Tells the Story of My Past
And my new one sings a song of my future
If my old car could talk — oh the sounds you’d hear and the stories it’d tell.
Just a quick walk around the unassuming grey exterior of my 2011 Subaru and you’ll begin to see and hear its story. A close look at its hood reveals the soft taps of sap drippings that remain stuck like glue on its painted surface from years of parking it under an evergreen tree.
Sprinkled among those sap drops are the pitter-patter of pockmarks from a hailstorm that swept through as it sat unprotected outside my office building one summer day. Over the wheel wells, rusty patches chomp away at the metal.
Open up the door and the evidence of outdoor explorations greets you in the form of sunscreen, bug spray, and a host of maps stuffed in the passenger door pockets. Pop open the glove box and out rattles cow bells, race numbers, and a small tin of safety pins holding the memories of a multitude of my kid's mountain bike races.
Peek in the back cargo area and you’ll hear my dad’s caring voice wrapped around a small shovel he gave to me in case I ever got stuck in the snow. At the time, I rolled my eyes at what seemed like an unnecessary item but I later thanked him for his thoughtfulness. I’ve used that shovel more than I ever thought I would.
Then if you close your eyes and sit quietly you may hear the echoes of my wailing cries as I sat in that car while parked outside Target knowing that my marriage was over. You’ll also hear a soft-spoken resolve as I packed it full of my belongings and drove away from that marriage and into a new life.
So many tales and sounds rest on the surface and within the shell of that well-loved vehicle.
But in the last few years, my car’s story has shifted from a peppy spry companion to an old weary one. My car is feeling its age. It moans when I punch on the gas pedal. It groans as it climbs up a hill.
During its most recent oil change, my mechanic pointed out a laundry list of problems. I cringed. The tally was higher than the car was worth. I left the shop with some questions to ponder. Do I fix my well-loved Subaru? Or do I accept that it’s time to let it go and close the book on all the cherished, heart-wrenching, and life-changing stories it contains?
I struggled to make a decision.
Then last Friday the answers to these questions rang loud and clear when my Subaru cried Uncle as all the lights on the dashboard flashed and a faint smell of burning oil crept through the vents.
So the next day my dying Subaru and I limped over to a dealership. I’d sensed this day looming in my future so I already had a replacement idea in mind along with the numbers I needed to hit to meet my budget.
When Tom the Salesman greeted me I told him about my languishing Subaru and that as much as I’d miss my car and all the memories it contained it was time to swap it for something more dependable.
He took one look and nodded in agreement. He reviewed my numbers and said he had one option that’d be a great fit for me. It had low miles, a clean Carfax report, and a stellar maintenance record. We walked out to take a look and my heart seized a bit. It was shockingly orange.
I glanced at him and remarked, “I’m not really an orange car person, Tom.”
He replied, “Just take it for a spin. I’d encourage you to embrace the orange because it's a great car.”
With much hesitation, I slid into the car. The interior was clean as a blank slate — ready to host a new chapter of sounds and stories. I started it up and drove off the lot. It was quick, snappy, and hummed with what sounded like the beginnings of a sweet and dependable tune.
I returned to the dealership and after a flurry of paperwork, signatures and one of the biggest checks I’ve ever written this boldly painted car was now mine. Tom handed me a few cloth bags and with haste I stuffed them full as I emptied my old car of all the maps, sunscreen, cowbells, and bug spray.
Then I paused. This was all happening so fast. I took a deep breath and for a brief moment, I acknowledged all the memories and emotions my old car held. I put my hand on its roof. I stroked its faded frame one last time and said a quiet thanks. After that final moment together, they drove it away and I bid farewell to that chapter of my life.
As I hopped into my new car, my mind swirled with adrenaline and emotions from the overwhelmingly big decision I’d just made. I also tried to wrap my head around finding a way to accept and embrace this fiery-colored car.
Orange wasn’t the color I had in mind when I pictured my next vehicle. I’m an introvert and usually lean towards shades that are much more subtle than this. But orange is the color of optimism. Of creativity and spontaneity. Of warmth and joy.
And with those positive thoughts swimming in my head, I smiled. I started it up and then pledged to fill it full with enough joyful sounds and lively new stories to match her vibrant exterior.
kasey sparks, © 2024
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