Things End Not How We Want Them
September 30, 2010
Things end not how we want them; all we can do is come to terms with that. I am writing about my car, my Oldsmobile, my old car. I have had so many moments in there, with it, that the loss is of a person, a thing, a home, a time. I’m losing the equivalent of a home. And that is the importance I want to bring across.
I understand I am being nostalgic and sentimental at letting my car go, but perhaps this attachment to my car will reveal in myself a human and a justified irrational love for something. Because I am writing about a thing, the car in itself is an object, which you as a reader cannot understand how much sentimental value it has for me, but can understand that sentimental value is significant. Then there is not much need for me to tell you all the things that I love about my car. Only that I have to accept that come very soon it will no longer be mine, like a person leaving, not in the possessive sense, but in the sense of “presence.” There will be things I can no longer enjoy, like the floating feeling it gives me when it is alive on the road.
My car has a name, but I shall not give it to you here, it is perhaps something that I shall or shall not share with someone who I wish to share my secret memories with. In that sense it has a personality that will be remembered. But the lost is what I’m coping with.
I always thought that I would ride my car until it realistically could not ride any more. In deeper detail, I wanted to ride my car until I couldn’t fix it anymore. I had spent so much money trying to last the moments a little longer, and push off the inevitable, with a belief that even though it was already 27 years old it could go on longer. But I had my times when it was a struggle, when windows did not work, or it would not run. It is always the struggle to keep going. Our life stops when we can’t. In this case I did go through some grief, a form of guilt at giving up on this fantasy. I can keep spending but I would not be going anywhere. The car was becoming less healthy every time. In that sense, I knew that it was time to accept the relationship was coming to an end. Like a time, like an exciting class or an important year of school, it is wonderful but to remain in that moment would be un-developing.
In conclusion, the end, I need to develop, my car knows me and understands, maybe like how a mentor understands when it has taken its pupil to where he wants him to be, to keep the pupil any longer than that would be contrary to the development of him. I have learned much from my car, in my car, with my car. And you cannot understand that writing this last previous sentence has swollen my eyes with a brief desire to shed tears. It was a place that I felt comfortable in, where I slept in at times, where tears have been shed by me and others, happy moments, sad moments, lonely moments that my car shared with me, that it comfort me in my loneliness, that it concealed me in my loneliness. That I felt alone and not alone in it. Is that justified irrational love for a thing. Is that an affect of love?
My car did affect me. I’m losing, lost a home.
Death, I wanted to end my car, not this way. The way of selling it to someone who could use it and perhaps love it just as well, but then to end up where I was where no more could be given to it and then it ending up in a junk yard, breaking down into a skeleton. It’s like a cemetery. But my memory is the important thing, not where the material car ends up, but where it stays in me. Because the dead are buried and physically they decompose so it is in the memory that we have to keep them, not in their bodies. And my car will live on longer with someone else; I wanted to keep putting more to it, but that was selfish and to do that would be needlessly wasting my life and the life of my car, like Romeo and Juliet, a pact suicide. This way we come to terms, it lives on with someone else, it stops one day and then, my memories I keep.
I know you as a reader may not understand this last part, or agree but it’s because it is personal to me. The analogies are not completely true to each other but they each speak of some aspect of my car. Coming to terms I’m not concerned with a whole unity of any analogy right now. My car is what I care about. I care about my car. I care for my car. Some of readers will not understand, I don’t understand sometimes. But I feel: