1/15/06 - car woes

January 15, 2006 - Sunday

7:13 PM - car woes A little over a year ago, I sold my beloved Nissan 200SX to my friend, who was quite thrilled with the purchase. Unlike me, this fellow knows a hell of a lot about the 200SX SE-R and even joined a few SE-R clubs whose main purpose is to discuss the glory of the car, its speed, its engine, its design. I loved it in my own way, having learned to drive on it and having used it for going on a decade. Since he bought the car, my friend has updated me whenever anything has gone wrong (or, in some rare instances, really right) with the car. Each time, I commiserate with him but can't help feeling a bit guilty myself. I know he's not telling me things in an effort to get me to pitch in or say, "Sorry I sold you that car that's giving you trouble." He's smarter than that, and went into the deal knowing that the car was ten years old and would be facing routine maintenance issues. Today he emailed me photos of the car after it was broken into, just to share. This is one thing I can't figure out a way to feel bad about at all in terms of the car sale. Instead, I'm just sad that someone broke into it and smashed that faithful driver's side window to itty bitty bits. When he was on his way over to the house last year to hand a check to my dad, my mom said, "I know I never drove it, but I'll be really sad to see the black car go." I had only glancingly thought of saying goodbye to the car, not expecting that I'd be too upset since I had a gorgeous Acura waiting for me in the lot. As I watched the car cruise off out of the neighborhood, tears welled up with little warning. I wrapped my arm around my dad's waist and tried to stifle my sadness. It was, after all, just a car. I don't have any overly poignant interpretation of what the car meant to me, or of what I was saying goodbye to. I could argue that the black car had beared witness to thousands of hours, tens of thousands of miles of my cruising, solitary road trips, goodnight kisses, teary I-85 breakdowns, and lost french fries. But I didn't think so specifically as the car's signal flashed and it turned down Barber, out of my sight. All I knew then was I felt a sense of loss that I certainly hadn't been anticipating. When I saw the photo of its front window smashed in, I felt a little pang in my chest and, however mildly, felt hurt. In a way, I guess I'll always see that car as mine.