[ back ]
Last ride in old car comes to halting end
(by Christine Thome - August 05, 2010)
BEYOND MY CONTROL, BUT CHRISTINE THOME
Last ride in old car comes to halting end
Earlier this year, we traded in our family car for a new one. The decision wasn't mine. I liked the old car, not just because it was reliable but because it was paid for. John, on the other hand, would buy a brand new car every week if he could afford it.
"Honey, it's seven years old, has over 100,000 miles on it, the extend-warranty is about to expire, and the transmission sounds funny to me," he said.
"I drive it every day, and I don't hear anything," I said.
"You wouldn't hear it unless you're listening for it. The noise is very subtle," he explained.
Now, for anyone who knows John, he is anything but subtle. I didn't even think he knew what the word "subtle" meant.
"Explain to me how you can hear a small 'pinging' noise in the transmission that is inaudible to most humans and dogs, but you can't hear me ask you to take out the garbage and you were never able to hear our children cry in the middle of the night when they were babies," I asked.
"It's a gift. What can I say?" He shrugged his shoulders and smirked.
So my husband, who is about as subtle as an elephant but obviously possesses the sonar skills of a bat, made it his mission to contact every car salesman within a 60-mile radius of Cleveland. After beating down one guy pretty good on the price and getting him to throw in everything except the giant pink gorilla on the dealership roof, we had a deal.
There aren't too many things in life that get John more excited than picking up a new car. Well, there are, but he hasn't been allowed to do most of those things since we got married. So we loaded up all four kids for one last trip in the family truckster and headed to the dealership to welcome the new car to our family.
"I love the smell of a new car!" said one daughter.
"The new car has a huge DVD screen!" said my son.
"And the seats are a lot more comfortable than these," said another daughter.
I glanced in the rearview mirror at our third daughter, anticipating her comment about the new car, but she just stared out the window.
"I think I'm going to miss this car," she whispered.
"Remember when we played cards in the back seat the entire way to Florida?" she continued. "And that time Jack threw up in the McDonald's bag?"
Everyone laughed at the memory, but suddenly we were all feeling a little melancholy.
"I remember squeezing the entire basketball team in here and screaming silly songs out the window," said another child.
"I learned how to drive in this car," my oldest daughter reminisced.
As I pulled into the dealership, John and the kids piled out, yet I stayed behind, and, with my hands on the wheel, I took a moment to silently thank the vehicle for its reliable service to our family over the years.
This was the car that took my twins to their first day of school. For seven years it got us through many horrifying blizzards and back home safely. It could practically drive itself to every gymnasium throughout Cleveland, and it took my daughter and me to visit nearly every college in Ohio. This was the car I drove when racing children to the emergency room, and it was the car I let idle in the driveway while I enjoyed an extra minute of solitude before entering my crazy household.
It was the car that carried our beloved golden retriever, Bailey, to the vet one last time, and, like that vet visit, I had the familiar feeling that I was putting down a beloved, trusted and reliable member of our family and leaving a piece of me behind.
I exited the car and softly closed the door. "Thank you," I whispered and patted the hood.
As I walked away, I swear I heard a low "ping" come from deep within the car, as if it was saying, "You're welcome."
Or maybe it was just the transmission.
[ back ]
