“Passengers would ask, “How long have you had this car? Probably thinking about getting a new one, huh?” I would shake off the question, somehow change the subject. After all, you don’t talk about when you’ll be ready to get back in the dating scene while your spouse lies dying in the bed next to you.”
My first memory of a car was our family car. It was a dark brown Mercury Cougar, maybe a 1987? I remember my parents telling me that they were going to be getting a new car, that we were going to get rid of the brown Cougar. I remember bursting into tears. I remember my Dad getting irritated with me. “Why are you crying?” he asked. “This is a good thing!” But I didn’t yet know the excitement of getting a new car. I just knew we were getting rid of our old car. I thought it would know and be sad. I cried and I cried.
And then we got the new car. It was a new Mercury Cougar. This one was red.
And I stopped crying. And I was very happy.
I never owned a car myself growing up. I was kind of freaked out about driving. While…
View original post 1,927 more words