Ode to the Oldsmobeast

She took me to Danger's graduation from massage school. Because of her, I was able to move in with MB after my junior year in college, once I was well and truly over the appeal of campus living. The first summer that I got into the weeklong creative writing workshop, she carried me 45 minutes out in the morning and 45 minutes back in the evenings. Because of her, I was able to take the internship at the nonprofit downtown, and then work for the DNR for a season after graduation.

A Neon sideswiped her once, and she ripped the Neon's side mirror free and scraped it down her attacker's side. She only suffered a small crack in the glass of her own side mirror. She's a tough old broad.

She only gets about 20 miles to the gallon, and she can't go over 72 mph. She has no cruise control (which I don't mind since I don't like using it). Her tape deck doesn't work, but luckily her radio does.

Her headliner is hanging mostly free, the front left speaker is blown, her paint is chipping, the seal on the driver's side door is gone, and that same door tends to stick in the winter.

If she was a person, she'd be able to get her driver's license now; she's 17 years old. She's starting to show her age, like an aging overplasticized socialite who's got more replacement parts than originals. Late last year it was the starter. Before that, the left front brake line collapsed. The brakes have been replaced two or three times, the tires twice. Her computer gave up the ghost one day on the expressway between home and campus, and luckily my dad was available to rescue me.

On Thursday, she was fine. On Friday morning, she was fine. Then, Friday afternoon, not so fine. The starter was making enthusiastic revving noises, but the engine was ignoring it. Each time I started her, it took longer for the engine to turn over. MB took her to the shop yesterday, and after paying $400 to get the fuel injection system fixed, he decided that her days are numbered. We've known for a while that we're to the point in her life where it's only a matter of time until the costs of keeping her running will exceed what she's worth.

With gas prices climbing higher and higher, it's a good idea to find something a little more fuel efficient. I'll get a CD player, a reliable vehicle, new paint, a headliner that's not shedding disintegrating insulation. I should be excited, and I am...but it also feels like I'm turning my back on an old friend. For all her crotchety behavior, all her shortcomings, I really do love my car. I worry that she'll end up in a junkyard somewhere, rusting and unloved. To me, she'll always represent freedom and a time in my life when I was just beginning to test the waters of full-fledged adulthood.

As Jack Sparrow said, "Wherever we want to go, we'll go. That's what a ship is, you know. It's not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails, that's what a ship needs but what a ship is... is freedom." I've always felt the same way about my clunky old car. Happy trails, old friend.