Well, I did something today that was rather strange. Uncomfortable even. I cried at work.
I didn’t mean too. And it definitely took me by surprise. Lauren too.
It started with a glisten, and then it became a well and when Mandy was looking, over it spilled.
Slowly, slowly lone tears, rolled south. Nicole said I held it together – I didn’t.
I’d spoken with dad earlier; then with Scott. It was about my car. It needed a new head gasket, rocket-cover gasket (I think), timing belt, two new tyres and a full and major service. It was going to cost more than the wee thing was worth.
I rarely drove it. Hadn’t for more than a month. It was just a car.
But today, when I said to Scott, “yes, yes – wreckers it is”, sadness overwhelmed.
I couldn’t help but think how many places we’d been together; how long it had been in the family; it’s steely grey shell and well-worn inner; the cigarette burn in the driver’s seat; and the way I never quite could get it into reverse and rather than move I’d get a rev in response.
We got through many scrapes without ever suffering any scrapes. We knew how the other moved. In recent days we rolled together over speed bumps without ever slowing – we didn’t need, we rarely went over 50.
Your CD player was in the boot. A five-stack. In the boot. An odd place to put a five-stack, sure, but still it brought a note of musical charm to the ride. Particularly when I’d forget the five-stack was in the boot until I was on the road for Wycheproof and I had hours ahead of Cat Power and Sarah Blasko (scratched, it skipped); then there was Damien Rice and Dirt River Radio and an empty spot in number five.
You had your little e-tag and over the tolls we’d go. You had a lovely steering wheel and you seated five. You had four wheels and five gears.
You were my car. And the wreckers only gave me $150.
I wasn’t wrong when I said to Scott, “I guess it’s the end of an era”. And it was. It is.
Goodbye little car.