Last night I cried.
I had to clean out my little car before giving her away to the car dealership, and I wept like a baby.
I remembered the time when we had runaway from Provo together to Iowa. My mom had asked me to drive across the country with someone so that I wouldn't have to brave the 22 hour drive by myself. Instead, I told her I was leaving Provo on Wednesday, and took off on Tuesday by myself. I figured, I would call to tell her "goodbye" and then say--"And just so you don't worry about me--I'm already here! Ta da!"
It was a brilliant plan. Except that Tuesday night my mom came down to surprise me and my roommate told her that I had already left, by myself.
Just me and the little Escort.
I had no cell phone coverage throughout the night, but on Wednesday morning when I hit Nebraska--I had frantic and apologetic messages from my roommate Mary who had spilled the beans. I called my mother and prepared for the onslaught.
"I have been up all night! I wrote your obituary!! I was worried sick! I can't believe you did this!"
You see why my original plan was so brilliant. If only . . .
My little Ford was with me then.
I packed her up in Iowa when I got into graduate school and we cried together as I left the good people of Iowa City. We drove down the Pennsylvania Turnpike and down into the Shenandoah Valley.
I packed her up when I graduated and we drove to DC with $50 in the bank and an even bigger cell phone bill just a year ago.
Oh dear little Escort. Three blog entries just isn't enough to show my love for you.
Goodnight Sweeet Car,
May Flights of Engines Sing you to your rest.
(taps play gently in the background, and a volley of gunfire salutes the sky. )