A Chapter Ends, Part 1: The Departure

My husband and our beloved car.

On July 23^rd, Jamie and I got in a “pretty bad” accident.  Neither of us were hurt, nor was the other driver, but Zyvelles took the full beating for us and, long story short, ended up getting totaled.  We were t-boned on the driver side right in front of the tire.  Of course, after the accident, we thought she would be fixable and everything would be great, so when we made our way over to the repair center she was towed to, only to hear the mechanic say, “Well, you see how everything under the hood is kind of skewed left?  It's supposed to be straight.  You can tell that some of the unibody is warped.  If it's bent, we can straighten it.  If it's kinked, that's not something we can fix without replacing it, and the insurance company would probably total the car.”  I cried on the way home, a lot, and then I cried some more.  We had always thought Zyvelles would last forever.  Our plan was that, in a few years, when we were good and ready, we would get another car we wanted, and we would sell her, and she would continue to be a car and drive folks around and have a little car life.  She had 120,000 miles on the clock and would likely have lasted another 150,000.  Cosmetically she looked good, she ran well, she was perfect.

But then the accident happened.  They totaled her, and the repair center accidentally marked that we had picked up everything and shipped her out.  So instead of collecting all the stuff and saying goodbye to her in a nice, dignified, repair center parking lot, we drove all the way to China Grove where the junkyard was.  We had to put on reflective vests and stand around watching as they drove her to us on a forklift, bouncing carelessly around, and she already had wax markings on the windows and dirt and grime all over her seats.  I tried to open the passenger door to sit in my customary spot one last time, couldn't open it due to the damage from the accident, and cussed a lot.  I had to sign a clipboard held by the junkyard guy, who stood there staring at us as we got all the stuff out of the car, and I cried as I was signing.  It was really really awful.

The view from the front.

I keep telling myself that it could have been so much worse.  If Jamie had gotten a little farther forward and been struck that hard in the driver door, he could have been really badly injured.  He would have had to postpone taking the bar exam, and I would have been absolutely beside myself.  So it is a mercy that it was just the car that was hurt.  Every repair person we talked to said something like, "It looks like it took a pretty bad hit.  Were you guys okay?"  When I thought hard about this, I cried some more, and I hugged Jamie and told him I would give up a thousand Corollas to keep him safe.

So before I go into the story of getting the Civic, I'd like to write a goodbye letter to Zyvelles.

_____

Dear Zyvelles,

I was really hoping this goodbye letter would happen in two or three years and end on a positive note.  Something like, “But I know those people will take good care of you, and you will take good care of them, as you have for us these many years.”  But I can't end this letter that way.

When I first met you, it was the first night Jamie and I went out to a date.  I think our first official date was I <3 Manhattan Pizza, but we walked there.  I met you when we drove to Bali Hai.  I didn't really have any expectations about what kind of car Jamie would drive.  But when he pushed the unlock button, and the little burgundy Corolla flashed its lights, I knew immediately that he was at least a reasonable individual.  My parents always drove Corollas, so while I was a little disappointed that you were a boring car, I was comforted that you were a very reliable, safe, and again, REASONABLE car.

Jamie and I ended up marrying, and one funny part of all this is that I was actually proposed to in you.  That made you so much more special to me.  We took a lot of road trips in you.  Jamie and I went to New Orleans, and Florida a couple times, and DC, where I remember getting back in you to go home was the best thing for my feet in what felt like a very a long time.  I remember late nights driving with Jamie, with us both joke-yelling Foo Fighters songs, and the early mornings of road trips where we would blink against the risen sun, still smelling the wrappers of the Bojangles biscuit I had used to motivate Jamie out of bed so early.  I remember when Birdy died, how I stole you from Jamie, and how we went from Durham to Atlanta to Durham again, weekly, for a few months until I graduated.  I remember driving to Chicago in you with my roommate, and how patient you were with the Chicago traffic—a gently purring machine compared to my anger and occasional banging on the steering wheel.  I remember crashing you when a woman opened her car door in front of me on a residential street.  I remember the sense of loss and failure, and the novelty of negotiating insurance claims.  I remember when we stayed in the mountains with my brother and sister, and how we scraped your undercarriage over a small hill turning into the cabin rentals. I remember sitting, worried, as Jamie punched the gas to get you up those hills in that cabin area.  You did wonderfully!

We have so many wonderful memories of you.  I think what makes this such a difficult loss is that you had what was going to be an illustrious future.  You would have been with us a few more years, then transferred to someone young and reasonable, who was in need of a friend like you.  I have certainly enjoyed the past six years with you.  I know Jamie has enjoyed the past nine.

The salesman at Carolina Quality Preowned joked that Copart was “where cars go to die.”  I hope then, my dear, that you can donate your engine, and your transmission, and all your relatively low-mileage parts so that you can continue to live on at least a little bit.  I appreciate you taking the hit for us, without complaint, as usual.

Lots of love,

Allison