It would be the story of many thoughts. Lots of thinking while driving; making some big decisions, lots of small ones, and many come-to-Jesus moments. It would tell of late nights at the Hi-Tone, of spilled coffee, entire meals eaten in the driver's side, and of sunsets watched on the Mississippi River. About the time it was backed into the deck of Otherlands. It would tell of a mysterious, phantom crayon, which prompted every single passenger to ask, "Is there a crayon melting in your car?"
It would be the story of many tears. Oh, the tears. Over regrets. Daily drives to the hospital to visit an ill grandmother. Beloved pets. Friends, family--as if there is a difference. Missed opportunities. But for every tear, there was an impromptu karaoke session. Tons of laughter. Entire dance routines performed while wearing a seatbelt. The story would be about songs--Britney, Beyonce, Lucinda Williams, the Beastie Boys, the soundtrack to Glee.
It would tell the story of the funny mechanics who worked on it. Of secrets shared between sisters, between friends, between mother and daughter. It would tell the story of falling in love. Of dates at the park and walks at night. It would tell the story of a calm girl on her wedding day, parking smack dab in front of the church. Of a newly married couple waving goodbye to loved ones after a reception, then driving home to find that they'd locked themselves out of the house.
We had a good run, my Jetta and I. Now it's off to the giant car park in the sky, and something new and Japanese for me. But in my heart, I'll always be a Volkswagen kinda girl. In the future, may the smell of melting crayons transport me back in time.
(Attaching sentiment to a possession/inanimate object, is that not diagnostic criteria for a hoarder? At least I'm not keeping it in the backyard, right?)
