They always say to not get too attached to your stuff, because it is, afterall, stuff. It’s not a part of you, it’s not necessary for your survival, and most of all it shouldn’t define who you are. That’s all well and good, but what about forming an attachment with your stuff? Not the kind wherein you are defining yourself by it, but the kind where you look at your stuff as more of a good friend? Such is the life of the isolated introvert (me), who goes to the trouble of naming my toys and thinking they have little consciousnesses of their own.
One such toy is always my car. Ever since my first car, I have always had names for them: the 88 Mazda 323 was Connor, the NIN-mobile (after my then-current obsession with both The Highlander and Nine Inch Nails); the 89 Oldsmobile Cutlass Cierra was named Gandalf, because he was old and grey; the 90 Ford something-or-other was named Piece of Shit, because that’s very much what it was. And then I bought my first new car: a 04 Chevy Aveo. After a Livejournal survey, I named it The Space Egg, because the car is sort of egg-shaped. I have lots of good memories of that car. It had little in the way of abnormal maintenance; it was hardly a bother. I was driven away from my wedding in that car - it even matched my dress. My husband and I shared it for a couple years until he finally got his own.
I recently had to say goodbye to this old friend. We were driving down a curvy hill on a wet day and lost control. Poor Space Egg got totaled. I wasn’t hurt, but Space Egg went to car heaven in the process. They could have fixed it right up, but the repairs were far more than the re-sell value of the car and would have left me out of a deductible. I guess, it’s sort of like putting a pet to sleep, something I haven’t done yet and hope to avoid at all costs. I had the option of fixing him right up, but let him go instead.
So my Space Egg doesn’t define who I am. I don’t picture myself under any circumstances as a white, bubble sedan. But he was my friend, my companion, and my car-pool buddy. He knew my driving nuances, and I knew his.
Now I’m driving a new car, an 08 Toyota Yaris (sedan) named The Blue Meanie, because the paint is a really badass blue. I sort of feel as though this is the “rebound” car, but that’s another conversation for another day.
Friends appear in strange places, and it is difficult to gauge when one will appear and where. And it always sucks when they leave.
Goodbye, Space Egg. You will be missed.