It finally happened.
I got a new car.
After seven years of driving a salvaged car without air conditioning, you would think I would be ecstatic the day I traded the bucket of bolts in for a newer model.
But I wasn’t.
I fucking cried! Full out red eyes, red nose, sniffles.
The salesman came back from negotiating with the broker and saw me crying. He asked what was wrong while I sniffled into a kleenex. Steve said, “she’s very attached to her car.”
I thought about all the hours I worked and all the money I saved to buy it. I thought about how I’ve had that car longer than I’ve been married. That car knew me when I was in college, when I was pregnant, it moved halfway across the country with me. I think it even knew me when I was still a virgin.
I took it to the mechanic and fixed up what I could and it was faithful to me. I always thought I would drive her until she sputtered to a stop for good. But we didn’t even make it to the end together. I felt like I was betraying an old friend. No amount of money they offered me for a trade in would accurately portray that car’s value.
I told Steve I wanted to not trade it in, but sell it myself so I can meet the new owner. I told him it was as special to me as a pet and I didn’t want her sitting in an impersonal lot, getting sunburned and mocked, parked amongst the new models. But after a few more kleenex, I swallowed that lump in my throat and signed the papers.
But the lump resurfaced.
Even now, I feel guilty, having a new car when
nothing not everything was wrong with my old one.
People say I deserve a new car. But sometimes you don’t deserve what you get.
Sometimes contentment is more valuable than determination.