Annie
the Acura – why we never named you until now I’ll never know…
You,
old friend, safely carried us from coast-to-coast and have priceless stories to
tell.
In
the heat of summer, you took Ken from Knoxville to Vegas, playing mixed cd’s
and blaring max cool, loaded with a suitcase, a sleeping bag and a photo of his
Florida mermaid.
Every
Sunday you were parked alongside the Porches, Ferraris and Bentleys, up by the
door at Bally’s Casino – you thought you were a super star; we thought so too!
Your warm seats kept our buns from freezing in the desert winters and enveloped us as we hit the late-night McDonald’s drive-through for $1 french fries and ice-cream sundaes.
Annie,
you hold so many memories of our life together – countless Christmas trees
drooping out of the trunk, piles of Florida beach sand on the mats, doggie
drool from Walter-Fuller Park every Sunday morning, and the scent of fast food lunches still linger in your carpet.
You were a work-horse -- we
know your max load is 16 bags of granite rocks from Home Depot and you can carry 10-ft. rugs from the front-seat, over the console and back to the trunk.
You’ve
been Barney-slobber and Coke christened, and the sun still pours warmly through
your sunroof. As an old girl, you still have some get-up-n-go and refuse to be
a member at the car parts graveyard.
So
many roads you’ve roamed, so many valuables you’ve carried, so much good music
and the stories you could tell. I will miss you, ole girl, but I have to let
you go.
Seeing
you in the garage is too painful to bear as it feels like my husband just got home
from work and might emerge with a smile and a hug at any moment.
I
know you’ll be in good hands with his best friend’s family and will provide new
memories, traveling their roads through the next few years or however long you
can hold out. Be good to them – no stalling on the highway or shimmying upon
braking, and keep their buns warm this winter as they drive through the
snowy streets of life.
Kristin Sadler, August 2013
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