And Here’s To You, Mrs. Rav4

When a car dies, do we mourn the car or the part of our lives it represents?

I’m just gonna go out there and say it: my car kicked the bucket the other day.

My black beauty better known as a 2002 Toyota Rav4 just couldn’t go on any longer. She was my mother’s car first, and when we moved from New York to California eight years ago, my mother decided that, damn it, she would conform to southern California standards and nab herself a convertible. Thus, the Rav4 was handed down to a 16-year-old me.

But now, after 130,000 miles and numerous trips back and forth from summer camp in New York (my mom), visits home from college (me), family vacations (my mom) and to and from work (me), my beloved vehicle began to deteriorate in the form of, let’s say, dementia, and her brain (aka the transmission) just stopped working.

Needless to say, I am nothing short of heartbroken. Yes, I am heartbroken over a car. And why shouldn’t I be? This car has seen me through many firsts in my 24-year-old life. A timeline, if you will:

• My first car accident (that wasn’t my fault). I am proud to say that when I lost my car accident virginity, I was not to blame; I was rear-ended. And I’m sure people who’ve experienced this will agree with me when I say that it was one of the scariest moments I’ve ever had. Boom! You go flying and get no warning. Luckily, my car thought nothing of it and we got through it with grace and ease.
• My first police-caught make out session. Oh yes, my high school boyfriend and I were “that” couple; the ones found on the top of a hill, sucking face late at night. I’m pretty sure the officer thought we were there to smoke weed. Little did he know that this first base escapade was the riskiest thing we’d done to date.
• My first move. The amount of boxes and clothes and mementos that my car carried from my home to my dorm room was unbelievable, not to mention heavy. But like an old friend, she recognized the importance of all of these things, sucked it up and moved me into my new home for the next 4 years.
• My first professional writing gig. I was so excited to have snagged myself a writing internship that I overlooked the 60 minute plus drive I’d be making thrice weekly from college to the office. But my little car, she kept silent and realized that my aspirations were more important than her health.
• My first car accident (that was my fault). I really blame my sister for parking directly behind me the night before I reversed my car right into hers. Her VW Beetle was unharmed. My car, however, suffered a giant dent that to this day is not fixed. I liken it to a broken nose that hasn’t been repaired. In other words, it’s gotta hurt. But my car? Never heard a peep out of her.

So you see, parting with this car of mine, it’s a major loss. She’s already black, so I think the mourning period is taking place whether I like it or not.

Here’s to you, the amazing Rav4 that could. Thanks for the memories.

Photo Credit

“Lavender Tire”

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