I officially have sold my old car. Picked up and gone this afternoon.
So weird how there’s a little mourning happening. It’s just a vehicle. But there’s so much history for me.
I couchsurf. Meet new people who become good friends. They have two cars. They let me borrow one to finally pass my CA driving test. I borrow it here and there and then they decide to sell it to me, as they don’t really need it anymore. Wonderful folks.
For the next 9 years or so, it served me well. I did everything with it. Ran it almost out of oil and gas. Transported folks, an adorable dog, furniture, in the back or on the roof. Dates. Trips to the coast, to the desert, to LAX. Movie nights. Long conversations on a quiet Friday evening with my girl, the blue moon and crickets on a parking lot or street parking (cars are places, too). Driving on the freeway, singing our hearts out. Under heavy rain or heavy sun. Never before in my life did I get flats but there I was, getting one on each wheel at least once.
In 2020, as I unfortunately hit homelessness, my little car is everything. I chat with my sister off of the public library wifi from the lot. I sit in it without running anything for hours, as I save gas and battery life because I can’t afford any repair at all. It allows me to move around with my bicycle and suitcase and stuff. I feel like I can do this even though it fucking sucks. My little car’s got my back.
I get my bicycle stolen from the back. Little corner window smashed. I’m living in Inglewood at the time and my neighbor goes “go see that Asian lady on Florence, she does all kinds of car glass”. I show up there, she opens a rusty warehouse with, duh, car glass on the ground (no floors, just dirt) no labels, nothing. This is a joke, I think. She comes back 10 minutes later with the right corner glass for my 1999 Vitara.
A few repairs. The catalytic converter gave me trouble first in 2018 and as I couldn’t afford to fix it, I really hoped it would hold it up for me. It gave up in 2023. Not bad.
While I was buying its successor one evening a few months ago, I saw a burgundy, clean-as-a-whistle 1999-2000 Suzuki Vitara on the other side of the boulevard. We both looked at each other from a distance like “wait, is it the same car that I drive that is old and that no one HEY YEAH”. A young woman. We smiled at each other and I really wanted to listen to her story with this car but anyway.
Bye, baby.