Now don't get me wrong, I spend a fair share of time grumbling about it. In the summer I whine about the lack of air conditioning, and in the winter I whine about scraping the ice off of the interior sides of the windshield and back window.
But overall, I get a warm feeling in my heart when I think about Little Red as my husband and I affectionately call her. She's got her fair share of faults like slow leaks in the radiator, gas tank, and tire. The paint on her hood is chipping. And as every mechanic has told me she's rusted through and through.
Somehow, amidst all her infirmities, she manages to keep running. She's endured the clumsiness of at least four first-time stick-shift drivers and her clutch is still hanging on. She's providing me with an independence and a freedom my husband and I wouldn't have without her.
She's allowed me to move to SC, to job search, to mentor, to meet friends. And through her frail rusted frame reminds me of her previous life, driving on salted Michigan roads. She reminds me of my sister who so generously gave her to me when I couldn't have afforded to buy a car for myself.
And I can't help but think maybe Little Red embodies more truth about us than I would see in a new car. (not that I am against new cars). She's not hiding anything under her hood. There is no shiny exterior. The rusted undercarriage carries a history of slow erosion a slow softening.
She's leaking almost all of her essentials--air, fuel, coolant--and needs to be constantly checked an maintained. She's not sheltered from the elements. They coat her outside and in, fill her up. And from time to time she needs to be scraped and wiped inside and out just so that I can see what's in front of her.
Some nights she has more light than others, always enough to keep driving but not always as much as I'd like. She won't quit, but she can't always hold it all together either.
She's not perfect but she sure is drive-able, valuable even. She's broken. She's a blessing
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