I didn’t think it would be this difficult.
I knew that I wanted to write about you, and explain all of the awesome things we went through together. What I didn’t realize is that while I write this, I know this is my way of saying goodbye. Yes, you are an inanimate object, and that you’ll never read this – but for some reason I feel like you know the day is coming.
The day I purchase a new (to me) car to drive, and sell you in that process.
I remember the day I heard about you.
I was sixteen years old. My parents were helping me find my first car, and I had no idea what I was doing. I would see a picture on the internet and try to do the ‘ole “judge a book by its cover” thing, and come up with a story for every car: how it got to where it was now
and what that car wants to be when it grows up (I know… I have issues… just keep reading). My dad showed me a picture of a 1996 Toyota Avalon, and asked for my thoughts. I remember thinking, “I don’t know… it’s a sedan and it doesn’t really look that cool, but whatever,” while actually saying, “Uhhhh… sure, let’s check it out.”
When we pulled up to your driveway it was snowing like crazy and I remember thinking something like, “This is a sign from God! I’m not supposed to get this car!” My dad and I went inside of the house to talk to your owners. He gave me the keys and his spiel about you, and ushered me back outside to check you out. I sat in the driver’s seat and shut the door, and in that moment, for the first time, felt what it was like to be in your embrace: a comfortable seat, spacious enough to not feel cramped, enclosed enough to not feel lost, and quiet… but in a safe way. My dad stepped in front of you and we went through the rigamarole of trying out all of the buttons and switches out to make sure all of your lights worked. I remember him pointing to the left, and me turning on the left turn signal; him pointing to the right, and me turning on the right turn signal; then he yelled as he passed my door, “Do that again and put on the brakes so I can check the back!” I followed direction. Then Dad stepped in front of you again. I remember him reaching his gloved hands out and motioning his fingers in such a specific fashion (curled into his palm, then stretched all the way out, and then curled again, back and forth). This, of course, was supposed to resemble hazards, but I was reminded of the word flash. So naturally, I turned on my brights. The look on his face was hilarious, and that was when we shared our first laugh together! I just knew you were laughing with me!
I drove away with you that night, into the flurries and darkness: what always made me think of the warp drive in Star Trek. I never turned on the music, just the heat. And I became more and more aware of a bond forming that I was not anticipating. In that moment I knew that you were some piece of metal I was going to show off to anyone that I could. You were my friend.
It would be impossible for me to go through everything that we did together, and I don’t know that I would want to. We’ve been through A LOT. And a lot of that “a lot” will be kept a secret between you and me, Tobias. However, there are a few memories that I think should absolutely be shared.
My first story: it’s not my greatest moment with you, and not my smartest moment overall! I remember driving you to work, it was a weekend day about 10 in the morning. This day, in particular, was a scorcher! I worked my 5 hour shift and came out knowing I was going to roll the windows down as soon as I hopped in (what with the air conditioning never really working, don’t worry, I was never mad at you for that). So I climbed in, rolled the windows down, took a deep breath of not 100+ degree air, and started the drive home. We were 5 minutes into the 10 minute drive and I came to a stop light. At the exact moment the red light turned green, I heard and explosion, and then my ears were ringing. I was befuddled as I was trying to figure out why my right arm up to my cheek felt like it was burning, and I could taste something… something sweet… something like… Cherry Pepsi?! Sure enough, I looked down at your left cup holder and saw a can of Cherry Pepsi with it’s top blown completely off. A can of Cherry Pepsi I had completely forgotten about from the night before. Your interior is still covered in that dark soda, as I was never able to scrub it out… and it remains one of the scariest and most hilarious moments of my life!
My second story: your CD player never really worked. Now, I know if I played a regular ‘ole CD in and didn’t press any skip buttons, and never turned it off while it was playing – you’d play a CD just right! But I was all about my mixes, you know?! So, here we were driving to a girl’s house so I could take her on our first date. I was playing one of my mixes (because I’m stubborn and don’t really mind when it skips, so long as we get through the song!), and it came to Shaggy’s song “Wasn’t Me”. The windows were down, the volume was up, and I was singing my lungs out; and then it skips. But it doesn’t come back! So I drove the next 10 minutes in silence trying to let you work out the issue, and eventually rolled up to the house and shut you down. I got our date, came back outside and started you back up… still silent. It was as we were backing out of the drive way that my mix started up again; and yes, at full blast! “PICTURE THIS WE WERE BOTH BUTT NAKED BANGIN’ ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR!” I was mortified. I could not believe you did that to me. But in the end… You knew, didn’t you!? She just wasn’t the one.
My third story: the long drives. This isn’t really about any particular long drive, just more so that I had so many of them with you: to Aspen, to South Sioux City, to Greeley and back so many times, to Lakewood and back so many times, and so many other places. I never questioned whether or not you were going to make it, I knew you would! So many people scoffed at your worn out look towards the end, questioning my faith in a car that’s over 20 years old. But not me, Tobias, I trusted you every trip! Bumping all of the tunes (through the fancy tape thing I had), the smooth rides allowing all of our passengers to sleep while I drove, and the heat I knew you could bring while the Colorado blizzards blew around us.
I have so many more stories, Tobias, and I will always remember them, and probably write them for others to know as times moves on. Thinking about letting you go is one of the hardest things I think I’ve ever had to face. You have not only protected me, but you’ve protected every single life that has sat with me. And can you believe that I have never received a traffic ticket while driving you!? It’s incredible, the time that we’ve shared. Nothing will replace that.
I know that you won’t be reading this. And it seems especially foolish as I wrap this up, knowing I spent this much time on a letter to what most people would consider an inanimate object. But you’re more to me than that, Tobias.
You will always be my friend.
Elliott Shindel 
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