I remember when she handed me your keys. My mouth salivated at the taste of independence.
I remember buying your first air freshener; a sassy 50’s broad dragging on a cig beside the words Fast, Cheap, and Out of Control. Our mantra.
She stayed in there long after her scent was gone.
I remember when you brought me to hold my nephew for the first time. On a school night.
I remember naming you The Red Dragon…and then immediately regretting that I named you that.
I remember when you carried me two hours through a snowstorm just for a kiss.
I remember when I packed you to the roof and watched my hometown disappear under the straw hem of a dashboard hula girl’s skirt.
I remember when the Grand Canyon didn’t want us to leave.
I remember when I discovered that NO ONE IN LOS ANGELES KNOWS HOW TO USE A F*&KING SIGNAL.
I remember learning why they call it the Golden Coast on our way to San Francisco.
I remember sleeping in your backseat for hours outside of The Comedy Store, waiting for the buzz to wear off.
I remember when you hydroplaned 900 degrees and let me live to not tell my mother this tale until now. (Sorry, mom. Just remember that I lived before you strangle me.)
I remember when you used to get so dirty that the neighbors would finger-paint messages on your hood for me to find the next day.
I remember sobbing inside of you for days after he left.
I remember when you almost swerved into the other lane when we sang “Be Our Guest” too loud.
I remember when the kids used to jump with joy, yelling “We’re riding in The Ol’ Rust Bucket today!”
I remember having to then explain to some mildly horrified teachers at carpool that the kids aren’t being classist. That’s just what I tell them to call you.
I remember your lifelong guardian, Lucky; her head sunburnt from years at her post.
I remember the steady hum of your tires on the road…while your internal organs SCREAMED every time I made a left turn.
I remember quiet nights with you at The Lookout, listening to the E.T. theme and gazing out over a city of stars.
I remember the day I realized that I had to let you go.
But I remember it all, baby.
Thank you for that.