Your first car is important for many reasons. It’s the first time you get to drive, the first expensive thing that is truly “yours” (for most people), and it takes you so many places. My first car was a red two-door 1998 Chevrolet Cavalier that belonged to my parents. When they purchased their Bonneville, it became mine. I didn’t officially get it until the summer after my graduation when I got my driver’s license. I sometimes refer to it as Old Red as a joke with my husband.
My car has seen me through some pretty rough moments. There was the time I drove through town on a snowy day after a recent break-up in my early years. There was snow all over the ground, and I was in a tender mood. I had been broken up with by who I viewed at the time to be the person I was meant to be with. Angry at him for hurting me and moving on so fast and angry at myself for not treating him properly and for still caring, that day I wanted to see him “just one more time” to apologize and try to make amends. Sure the other 5,000 attempts crashed and burned, but my heart was hurting so much I just couldn’t stop trying.
That day I couldn’t find him because he wasn’t home, but I knew where he was at, but couldn’t remember the exact address. I decided to drive up and down the streets until I found his car. I never found his car or the house he was at, but I managed to break off a part of Old Red’s guard in the front, unbeknownst to me until I was at home and not knowing where to find it at. Poor Old Red. This car stuck by me longer than this person did, but such is high school love.
My next memory with Old Red is later that year in the summer. Still single, and still feeling lonely, I hung out a lot with someone who was friends with my ex but who I felt was a friend to me as well. We spent time just driving on random roads and listening to great music. There was one night in particular where we were listening to music that was so peaceful. Old Red also took me and my friend to kill boredom at a mall 45 minutes away and on another trip after poor judgement on my end. Eventually, this friendship faded away as my friend had feelings for me that I didn’t exactly share completely. I still miss being able to drive randomly and listen to music with someone who shared my tastes at the time and made me laugh. But then it was just Old Red and me again.
That same year I had another memorable event involving Old Red. My current husband and I had just started dating, and we drove to the local park to talk and hang out late at night. We walked down the walkway, ending up at a shelter and sat on the picnic bench and just talked until the sun rose again. It was crazy how long we could talk. Now I can get annoyed with him after only 2 minutes of talking, but that’s what marriage can do to you. (I, of course, still love him and enjoy talking to him even when he is being a pain.)
After the sun rose, we walked back to Old Red, which hadn’t been in ear or eye shot. I was furious. Though it was late at night, this wasn’t a dangerous park. However, somebody had busted my car window and stolen all of my CD’s, many of which were only custom mixes and not re-sellable. They had spared my CD player, but I was heartbroken. At the time, my music was my life and it was what had gotten me through a rough patch that summer. We called the police, and I sat in fear while I waited for my parents to come. I knew they would think more had happened than it did, but in honesty, all we did was talk.
The next thing that happened got my husband major kudos. At the time, he was working at a Staples. The next time I seen him he brought me a big spindle of blank CDs and a new CD case so I could make more CDs to replace the stolen CDs. My heart melted, and I knew I had a good guy. Old Red eventually got fixed up, thanks to a window found at a junk yard and my dad’s magic work in the garage.
As a whole, Old Red also reminds me of how much my father loves me. My father is amazing at working on cars, despite never receiving a degree or certification for it. I trust him more than any mechanic and know that he always has the answers. He has put so much time and sweat into fixing up Old Red whenever there were issues. My father never complained to me and was always there to help me so that I could have a working car.
Now that Old Red is elderly and pretty much dead, it’s kind of hard to just give her away. She may have rust on her side, a cracked side mirror, a rearview mirror that keeps falling down, a broken odometer, missing guards in the front, scuffed-up rims, and a non-working engine, but she has been a faithful car that got me safely to work and school for seven years. Goodbye Old Red.