I sit in the car a little longer today, attempting to keep my trembling jaw in control. Why is this so hard? She’s been nothing if not unreliable and moody, and it isn’t as if she’s been a part of the family for very long at all. She’s spent half her time with me in a state of refusal to move, and when she has obliged me, it’s been a rather uncomfortable ride. She came to us already a little screwed up in the head and falling apart at the touch, and she’s as sweltering or frigid inside as it is outside. So why this hesitation, watching him from behind the windshield shaking his fists in victory at having filed the appropriate paperwork? Why this tug in my chest as I follow him to her demise to where we will hand her over to her Reaper? I suppose in all her flaws, I’ve grown attached and I dare say, I think I love her. But she’s a drain and a headache and today is the day.
I hand the smiling Reaper her broken nub of a key and swallow the ridiculous swell in the back of my throat. What the hell, it’s just a lemon of a car. But it feels like I’m putting her down and for that, my heart aches just a tad until I realize how insanely I’m behaving. I’m not sure if it’s actually the act of trashing what has been my car for the past couple years, or the fact that doing this today means we’re actually leaving this place and all the changes that will bring. Either way, we drive away, having left her behind to be compacted into a big, black block, and letting go of her means I have to reach for something new. Which is great. Just a little scary.
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