In Memoriam

I’ve been feeling pretty down lately, and I just realized it’s because this month marks the one-year anniversary of the passing of a friend; we didn’t know each other long, but I’ll never forget him. 

We first met when I moved back home in August 2011.  He belonged to my sister at the time; she’d gotten him when she lived in San Francisco, and had been her faithful companion for years.  When she packed up and road tripped across the country to move back home, he was with her every step of the way.  Now, however, she was going someplace where he couldn’t follow: Australia.  Thus she gifted him to me, and a friendship was born.

We spent a happy year together going to the beach, the park, the mall, or just taking a leisurely drive with the windows down and today’s top 40 hits blaring from the radio.  He was getting on years and couldn’t travel long distances anymore, but he was always up for a late night pizza and/or ice cream run.  And age did nothing to diminish his imposing size, shiny red coat and roomy interior.  

That’s right, he was a late-90’s Subaru Forrester.  I totally had you going, didn’t I?  I’ll bet you were all like, she’s talking about a person…no, wait, it must be a dog…no, wait, it’s a car? Wow, she totally had me going!  I wish I were half as talented as her, then maybe all of the hours I spend hunched over a computer would actually be productive instead of a soul-sucking abyss…Okay, maybe we should move on. 

Alas, as with all good things, it was no meant to last.  One day the dreaded check engine light came on, and I did what any car owner would do: ignore it and hope nothing happened.  This strategy lasted two weeks before my companion sent a very clear message something was wrong by refusing to start, throwing in some sputtering for good measure.  Following a jump I immediately brought him to my trusted mechanic, AKA the guy who would overcharge me the least.  While I waited for a diagnosis I kept my fingers crossed that it was a simple problem that wouldn’t cost a lot to fix, and if you snorted with laughter when you read that, then you’ve been there too.  My condolences.    

The mechanic told me that the catalytic converter was shot, which in a car is like the heart or liver or some other vital organ.  He said he could fix it, but my poor car had reached the stage where fixing it was like putting it on life support.  I had two choices: scrap him now, or drive him until he konked out again.  I chose the latter, hoping we could have a few last wonderful weeks together.   

It ended up being four days. 

Sometimes I wonder what became of him.  Was his frame melted down and repurposed as cans of corn?  Maybe his comfy seats are housing a family of squirrels, or his steering wheel is now part of an art student’s final project.  But what really matters is that he will always be remembered for what he was by the lives he touched.  That’s all any of us can hope for.