As a gift for graduating high school, my wife’s parents bought a brand-new silver 2004 Honda Element. She named the car “Ellie the Element.” My wife commuted one hour between her parents’ house, work, and college; she would listen to the radio, sing, and reflect on life, studies, and work. Ellie was spacious enough that my wife could move without help from college to her dorm room. My wife moved furniture and entire sets for plays in Ellie. Dirt or sand in the car? No problem; Ellie had impermeable seats and no carpet, so we could rinse or mop the inside of the car. Ellie kept that fresh car smell for four years.
Ellie was the car my wife was driving when we met on December 16th, 2006. After talking three hours with my wife, I walked her to Ellie, and I noted for such a small woman (my wife is 5′ 1″ tall), she had a rather large box car.
And off she drove for the first of many times in her box car. We lived about four hours away from each other during our eighteen month courtship. For me, Ellie was bittersweet: it was great to see the silver box car arriving, because it signaled my wife’s arrival. Yet it was also sad to see Ellie, however, because it meant my wife was leaving to go home. Ellie was a comfort to my wife on her way back home, since it was a place for my wife to reflect on our time together and contemplate our future.
Ellie was our carriage when we left our wedding reception and carried us to our honeymoon.
When I joined the military shortly after our wedding, Ellie was again a bittersweet sight for me over a year of training, bringing and taking away my wife.
Sadly, not all good things last. My wife had a car accident in Ellie, and while my wife received a minor injury, she was more distraught to see her Ellie severely damaged. The insurance inspector pronounced the car a total loss; when I told my wife, it was as if a relative had died. So many great memories happened in that silver box car. To this day, my wife refuses to name either of our cars, because no car could replace her Ellie.