I love my car

My car turns eleven this year.

When I first got her, it was like joining a secret stealth club I'd never known existed. The new Car Owner's Club. And not just any kind of new car, but a Rav4, specifically.

Young mothers and hipster Graphic Designers would pass me on the San Francisco streets. We would nod to each other in silent approval of our mutual excellent taste. Other people in Rav4s of their own would honk and wave as they drove by. One particularly memorable day, I was followed for almost a mile by a Rav4 bursting with screaming possibly drunk frat boys. And they were right. My Rav4 did indeed totally fucking rule.

Shiny and black and beautiful, with a moon roof and power everything. Custom leather upholstery in a dark charcoal that cost me a thousand dollars and an extra two weeks of waiting. It was worth it.

With my car, I have gone from California to Mexico, New York, New Orleans, Florida, Arizona countless times...I have watched my pregnant belly go from belly to baby to toddler to almost middle schooler, faster than you can say, "Mom, please."

I have lost my mother, my best friend, and my puppy. I have left one marriage and at least one job. I have lost and gained friends, weight, and wisdom. We have gone through 3 windshields, and 4 sets of tires, but all in all, we have weathered the decade fairly well.

We spun out once, in the middle of a heavy fog on slippery roads. Once again, in the middle of blizzard, in the middle of the night, in the middle of America. We survived.

From the driver's seat, I taught my daughter all the words to countless songs. I read, Where the Wild Things Are, from memory, till she knew it better than I did. We talked about how to count to 5, first in English, then in Spanish, then in Mandarin. We've talked about what it meant to be a good friend, and what it meant to be a good person, and the three best things that happened to each of us on any given day.

Once I watched the moon turn orange and chased a lightning storm across the great expanse of Texas.

Once, in the middle of a moonlit night, I saw a white wolf along the side of the highway. We stared at each other in silence and slow motion, as I drove past.

Once I drove by a car, seconds after it had exploded into flame. I could feel the sudden heat from the explosion, even through the glass and metal of my car. I found myself crying all the way home.

I drove through Louisiana and witnessed the aftermath of a hurricane. I drove through San Francisco to witness the aftermath of a terrible rain storm. I drove through the mountains in Arizona and witnessed the aftermath of a terrible firestorm.

I've had countless cups of coffee in that car, as we've driven through all kinds of weather in these last eleven years of my life. Almost everyone I've loved at all in the last eleven years, has sat with me at some point, in the front seat of my car.

These days, no one screams their approval of my vehicular purchase. The companion cars full of young mothers and roving college boys have all gone their separate ways. But still, as I slide across the custom leather seat and the engine starts to purr, I love my car. As much as I ever did, and maybe even just a little bit more.