You're Dead to Me

Dear car,

You're dead to me. Literally. And figuratively. (And just for the record, if you weren't dead to me literally, you wouldn't be dead to me figuratively.) For the past year and a half you have introduced numerous expenses and stresses into my life. These include but are not limited to: 1 citation, 1 ticket, 5 accidents, 1 paint job, 2 failed safety inspections requiring around $500 in repairs each time, and lots of money spent towards gas, insurance and maintenance. I've endured having no heat, getting a flat tire and worst of all: getting Utah registration and license plates. I got Utah plates for you. Utah license plates!! Does that mean nothing to you!? Apparently not. So you're dead to me.

Perhaps I'm being unduly harsh. Perhaps, underlying all my anger (a secondary emotion) is some hurt (the primary emotion). Beneath my angry dinosaur (rarr!), I'm sad. I trusted you. I relied on you. I've grown attached to you. I have never wished you an untimely death. I have grown reliant upon you for transportation. I've associated my relationship with you with autonomy and independence. I'm comfortable with you. I've given your the honor of housing my Tibetan Prayer Beads and my seat belt buddy Limey. I've trusted you to listen to me singing more often and more loudly than any person and more than even my shower. You've heard me voice many of my insecurities. You've heard me pray. You've heard my weak attempt at screaming (rarr!). We've served together. We've traveled together. We've gone to church together. We've gone to the temple together (granted, you stayed in the parking lot). We have gone all over the state of Utah together.

I remember the first time we met in St. George. It was in the Tuacahn parking lot. (Wow...I'm starting to tear up just thinking about it.) I remember how nervous I was at first as I drove you back to Provo. I remember our jaunts to the grocery store. I remember our drives to Salt Lake, to Logan, to Sandy. I remember out many rides to and from the RTC in Spanish Fork. You've taken me to attend mission reunions, to visit friends, to go grocery shopping and to provide rides for others. You were the vehicle that took me home for Christmas last year. I remember when you were backed into...both times, but especially the second time. I still keep a shard of the old door's window in my pocket. I remember our daily drives to and from campus this semester. I remember our recent drive back to St. George and Tuacahn a month and a half ago. Those were good times. We've had a lot of good times together. Thanks.

Why can't we have more such times? Why did you have to die? Why did you have to leave me behind? Why have you forsaken me? Is it because you an AZ snowbird at heart? Was the ice and snow too much for you? Were you looking for another free ride to Arizona for the winter months? Was it simply your time? Was it my neglect that lead to this untimely end?

I feel so alone and so limited. Everything is different now. And what hasn't changed I feel like I need to change. I can't imagine living where I live without you. I shall likely move at the end of the semester. I am sad that you are gone. I'm also a little mad. When I said goodbye earlier, a part of me wanted to find a sledge hammer and just rip into you. Another part of me wanted to hug you and cry. As it was, I simply tore off the "A" and "E" from "Taurus SES" and put it into my pocket and said goodbye.

So my dear travel companion of recent days and years, you are dead to me. And I am sad. And my life is altered. I know that things will work out in the end. I know that there are good memories that I can and will cherish. But for the next little while, I'm just going to hurt as my life shifts and conforms to accommodate the holes left by your exitting. Thanks for the good times. You shall be missed.

Your owner,

Allison