All Good Things Must Come to an End

"A young girl, two hands on the wheel,
I can't replace the way it made me feel."
- Alan Jackson

So-- if you know me, you probably know my car. Big Volvo SUV. Hockey stickers all over the place. Banged up license plate. Perpetual mud splash up the side panels. You've probably at some point wondered what the heck color it is (is it silver/is it green?)-- actually, "Crystal Green" is the proper term, a very popular color for the XC90 '04 model (the second year this model was available for purchase in North America, mind you). I'm in love with my car.

This baby was brand, spankin' new when Dad and I picked her up in Goetheberg, SW back in the summer after my sophomore year of highschool in 2004. We drove her from Sweden to the coast of Norway, where we marveled at the fjords and wild ponies, and kicked it with the vikings in a remote area of Haugesund. We traversed the 1,061 kilometers from Haugesund to Coppenhagen, where we learned about Danish ice cream and floated around the water ways of one of the most gorgeous and colorful cities in the world. We stopped back in Goetheberg to drop her off and head home, and waited... with so much impatience, waited... for her to get home a few weeks after us.

I remember the first day we brought her home. I hopped in and felt a new and uncanny type of excitement, accomplishment, and glory (yes, 16-year-old, first-car glory) when I wrapped my little monkey fingers around the steering-wheel reins of this magnificent mechanical beast. I remember every detail-- that tell-tale sound of the "volvo" door slam, the pick-up (or lack there of, hehe) on the gas pedal, the power of the breaks. I even remember the sound of the turn signal being so new and different that the Jeep I was used to. She was finally home, and she was all mine. Every one of those 6 cd slots. Mine.

Dad used to try to drive her every now and then, but quickly got grossed out by all the smelly saddle pads that frequented the extra-large trunk (something I was VERY thankful to have), and so he stopped. She was really all mine. Every crystal green, beige leather interior, Swedish-American surface of greatness. This was my very first car.

When I was little, I always wished I could be 25 years old. That seemed to me to be the age where one would boast the beauty and responsibility of adulthood, yet still would retain her youthful spirit and glow. I am one year shy of my marker, and unfortunately, this little silver-green car won't live to see that day.

This car has been by my side through every high, low, and plateau in my life. Together, we built the person who I am today. She has seen adventure. She has seen magical first dates and heart-wrenching separations. She has seen love, hate, and complacency. She has seen proud victory and humiliating defeat. She has been covered, quite literally, in my blood, sweat, and tears. (And hot chocolate.) She has been a party car, a tailgate mobile, and a beachside motel. She has been a restaurant, a confessional, and a life-saver. She has been my safe haven, when no where else seemed like home. She never left me stranded, but has sure seen me break down my share of times. When everyone else walked away, she was there. When I needed to walk away, she was still there. She has been, to be quite honest, one of the most tried-and-true friends I've ever known.

Priscilla remarked to me a few months ago, "I am sure glad to see you still have your car. It's nice to know that, while the whole world around us changes, this one thing has still remained the same."  I thought about that for a bit, more so now that the current situation is upon us. She truly was a symbol of timelessness-- a comforting presence in this world of uncertainty.

Sure, every girl muses about what car she'll buy next, or what kind of add-ons she'll put on her future whip, but as I sit here in tears, with the reality of the fact that the only thing of mine that's been a steady and reassuring presence in my life (aside from my wonderful parents) is so badly damaged that she might not make it to the end of this day, let alone the end of the week, my heart is breaking.
It breaks with all that we've been through together. It breaks for all the secrets of mine that she keeps and the memories she holds. I don't know if this is normal for people to get this attached to objects, but I honestly feel like I'm losing a best friend (a best friend that up until this point, it didn't really dawn on me that I had.) Maybe I'm scared. I'm almost 25, you know. I'm almost there. And that's scary as shit.

To a time-honored classic of a car, my little silver-green wonder-machine, I will miss you more than you will ever know. You were so much more than 4-wheels and a T-5 engine.

Silver-green car suffers from a condition involving poor lubrication, severe rod damage, and material deterioration, resulting in metal flakes from the rods to enter the fuel supply, which will, at some undisclosed time, cause massive engine failure. Unless the engine is replaced completely, there is no cure.