The leaves and other tree droppings have permanently etched brown stains into her once-handsome skin. Her plastic headlight covers, foggy and scratched, need cataract surgery to restore their illuminating beams. Her tires are well-worn like ancient running shoes. Her running gear has logged nearly 150,000 miles.
In short, she is old, tired and increasingly feeble. She has faithfully served transportation needs for nearly a decade-and-a-half without complaint. If car years track similarly to dog years, she is nearing 98 years old.
Though she is still running, I have been advised to dump our gerontological companion. Possible dangerous behaviors and huge repair bills loom just around the corner. The cost of repairing her now exceeds her dollar value in the used car market.
When she departs my driveway for the last time, she will leave a small stain of oil behind, a reminder of her that will fade with time. She will carry with her the secret stories of our lives. How she carried me and patiently waited for me while I interviewed for a desperately-needed job. When ferrying the family pet to the veterinarian, she never complaining about the scratchy toenails and the fleas it deposited. She faithfully carried vast quantities of weekly groceries, enduring spilled jugs of milk and the sharp spikes of pineapple skin.
Like precious gifts left in the tomb of an ancient pharaoh, she will carry off bits of our lost pocket change hidden in a corner of faded carpeting, and stale gummy bears concealed beneath folds of stained upholstery.
I understand that, in time, the pain over losing our nonagenarian vehicle will pass.
But when the first of the 72 loan installments to pay for her replacement comes due, the memory of losing her will be all the more bittersweet.