All the Cars I’ve Loved

I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I talk to my car. I praise it when it makes it up my steep, slippery hill in the winter. And I pat it on the dashboard and apologize if I grind the gears or let the gas tank get close to empty. Just my car though. I don’t talk to other people’s cars. I’m not unhinged, you know.

Or maybe I am. I have a tendency to develop what some would consider an unhealthy attachment to vehicles. I see them as friends, cherished companions on life’s highway. I’ve been so tight with the cars I’ve owned that I wanted to stay in touch after we parted. I didn’t though. The new owners might not have understood if I stopped by to take their car for a drive.

I’ve been this way since I bought my first car, a green Plymouth Scamp with a cream-colored vinyl roof. It wasn’t exactly a dream car for a 21-year old, but it had a charming personality and we bonded quickly. If you don’t think cars can be charming, maybe you’re not talking with yours enough.

I named my Scamp Elroy Scampini because it seemed odd to carry on a conversation with someone who didn’t have a name. He was followed by Stanley, Goldie, Forest, Sky and most recently, a Subaru Crosstrek named Soobee. They all had many fine qualities, not the least of which was that they were paid off before we said adieu.

And while I’m enjoying making a new friend in the form of another Subaru Crosstrek, I can’t help mourning Soobee. I would have kept them both, but we don’t have enough garage space and I wouldn’t want them arguing over it.

One of the men at the dealership assured me that plenty of people get emotionally attached to their vehicles. He’s actually seen people cry when they hand over their old car’s keys—and not just because they’d have to start making a car payment.

I understand. We make memories with our cars. They’re with us day in and day out, ready to go whenever we are, just like the family dog. And they won’t bite the UPS guy.

My husband and I have driven to many wonderful places in Soobee. Let me rephrase that. My husband has driven to many wonderful places in Soobee. I’ve napped. And that’s one of the things I look for in a new car: how comfortable it is to nap in. In fact, while my husband was test driving, I was test napping.

I’m kidding. I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited about getting a new car—and too sad about abandoning the old one. It still haunts me the way Soobee sat there, all alone, looking confused and hurt as we drove away in the new car. She was probably feeling what a middle-aged wife feels when her husband leaves her for a 30-year-old beauty queen.

And my new car is a beauty queen. Not that Soobee wasn’t lovely. She had a five-speed manual transmission and was white, or more precisely, “pearl.” But the new car is a six speed and is “ice silver metallic,” so she won’t show the dirt as badly. Plus, she’s got all sorts of fancy features including a digital compass on the rearview mirror, which anyone giving me directions will appreciate, and a backup camera, which anyone parking behind me will appreciate.

I didn’t mention any of these things to Soobee when I said goodbye. I’m not a monster. And I named the new car Soobee-Deux in her honor. Deux means two in French. If you’re French, you’d say “du.” I’m not, so when I say her name, it rhymes with Scooby-Doo. Soobee-Deaux is pretty hard to rhyme, so that will come in handy if I ever write a poem about her. And considering our budding friendship, I might.

 (Dorothy Rosby is the author of several humor books, including I Used to Think I Was Not That Bad and Then I Got to Know Me Better. Contact drosby@rushmore.com.)