It's Worth More Than $293 To Me, Effie

Cars.  What are they to you?  A mode of transportation.  A way to get to point B from point A.  Right?  Not my car.  My car has character.  My car is my girl.  Like any good relationship, you go through the ups and downs, but you always remain happy.  Always committed.  My 1996 Mitsubishi Eclipse and I have been through a lot together.  If you've read this blog before, know me, or have seen my facebook, you know that I complain about her a lot.  That's the mark of a good relationship, isn't it?  Complaining about her a lot?  About how she drives you crazy?  But, no matter what, you still love her.  You still go home to her at night.  She's your rock.  You don't know what you would do without her.  You would be directionless, stuck with no where to go.  Just like I feel about my baby.  My little Eclipse.  I've known her since I was 17.  I'll never forget the first time I saw her.

I had been driving my grandfathers black 1993 Chevy S10 for a year in high school.  My parents and I had been looking for a new car for me.  I was obsessed with Honda Preludes at the time.  I want a sexy, sleek, girl attracting, hormone machine.  At the time, a Honda Prelude fit the bill for me.  My parents and I looked and looked and looked.  I probably bought 75 issues of AutoTrader from the CFM (which is now a Circle K) on Highway K after cross country practice.  Then it happened.  We found one.  A beautiful dark blue, 5 speed, Honda Prelude.  Awesome!  We put an offer on it.  The seller comes up with some bullshit about his girlfriend really liking the car and not being sure if he wants to sell it.  Typical.  Boy likes car, car is a lesbian and actually likes other girl.  I've seen it happen a million times.  So, after minutes of grieving, I picked up the shattered pieces of my heart and pushed forward.  Then we found her.  My baby. A 1996 Mitsubishi Eclipse at a car dealership on Manchester.  Sleek, green, grey interior, 5 speed transmission, sexy, girl attracting (right?), hormone machine.  I liked it.  I wanted it.  I didn't know why.  It's like spotting a girl from across the bar that you absolutely have to talk to.

I went home after cross country practice and my parents were out.  The phone rang and I answered.  "Hello, may I speak to Rob please?"
"This is Rob," I responded.
"Yes, Rob, that '96 Eclipse you were looking at? Remember?"
"I do."
"We just sold it and I wanted to let you know, it's no longer available.  I'm sorry."
"Oh.  O..okay.  Thank you for letting me know. Have a nice night."

That's two cars that broke my heart.  The search begins again.  I pull an AutoTrader from my book bag and begin looking for suitable replacements.  Then, the phone rings again.  Maybe the buyer changed his mind suddenly!  I answered the phone with hope.  It was my parents.  They needed me to help them unload groceries when they got home.  Damn.  When I heard the garage open, I walked outside and there she was.  The Eclipse came back to me.  She was backing into my driveway and I watched every beautiful second of it.  It's exactly like a gorgeous girl walking toward you, backwards.  Just imagine that.  My parents had colluded with the salesman to play an elaborate (and heart breaking) prank on me.  That moment was the start of a beautiful, stressful, and very memorable relationship.

The next several weeks were spent in that car with my dad.  He taught me how to drive a manual transmission in that car in a sloped parking lot at John Weldon Elementary on Weldon Springs road during the spring of 2002.  I must've killed that car 300 times before I got out of first gear.  At 17, your car is your livelihood.  It's who you are.  It's a way to get out of the house.  It's a way to be cool when you can drive to school.  It's a way to get to your part time job at the movie theater.  It's a way to take girls on dates to the movie theater that you work part time at.  It's a way to drive home from a date that went awful because the girl realized you took her to the movie theater you work part time at because it's free.  I took excellent care of my Eclipse.  She was insured, she was given a bath 3 times a week, sometimes 4 or 5.  If you were my neighbor back then, you'd swear I was trying to wash the paint off the car.  I waxed her, I buffed her, I vacuumed, ArmorAlled, and dried her.  She was spotless.  She was happy.  I was happy.  This is when she stopped being an "it" and started being a "her".  She had a personality.

Then, I went off to college.  The first cracks in our relationship formed.  She didn't want me to go.  The very first day I left Wisconsin to go to college (queue the triumphant music!), she over heated in the middle of no where in Iowa (queue the sad trombone).  Literally, no where.  The tow truck driver's name was, I kid you not, Bubba.  He spent the entire hour long drive back to civilization explaining to me how to pick up girls.  I'm going out on a limb here, but I think Bubba and I are looking for different things in women.  Things such as teeth and the ability to form sentences.  My mom and unce came and got me from my aunt's apartment in Des Moine.  We went back to Wisconsin and I would attempt to make the journey again a few days later.  I eventually made it to Mizzou with my car.  I got over the little tiff she put on in Iowa.  For a freshman, a car isn't of much consequence.  You live on campus, you go to class on campus, you get your food on campus.  You're rarely in your car.  You use it on weekends to go on beer runs.  She was given the name "The Teal Streak".  So, my relationship with my car changed. I only used her when I needed her.  I rarely washed her any more.  Oil changes became rare.  I neglected her.  She became angry.

Then, one day, when I needed her the most, she broke down on me.  I was supposed to take a girl out to dinner.  My car became jealous and she threw a rod during a temper tantrum.  She made the most piercing, painful noise.  I hurt her and she was screaming at me!  I was, as I put it, "too traditional" to let the girl drive.  Whatever that means.  I eventually was able to borrow my cousin's car to get together with her.  I whipped up some lasagna and took it over to her place.  Turns out, the entire engine needed to be replaced.  $4,000.  Bank of Mom paid for that one, thankfully.  Sure, there were various other malfunctions and hiccups during college, but we made it through.  That's more than you can say about most college relationships.

Post college, my relationship with my car changed again.  When I was 17, it was a way to get away from home. Now, older, it's a way for me to get home.  She's my connection to my parents, to the holidays, to safety and familiarity.  She was how I got to work, how I made money to pay my bills.  She got me through the tangled web of highway that is St. Louis.  Well, her and a GPS.  She started breaking down more often, the problems started being more severe.  5th gear stopped working, the heat stopped working, the AC stopped working, the exhaust had a hole in it.  She was getting tired, but she was a fighter.  She kept going, just for me.  She knew I needed her.  She even got hit pretty hard on Highway 70 and still got me to work that day.  She did finally give in, though.  This last summer.  She no longer starts.

So many memories with that car.  So many road trips, dates, concerts, Proms, Homecomings, high school dances, parties, football games, end of semester drives back home, summer breaks, spring breaks, and car washes.  There was that time that Matt and I got stranded at Circuit City (remember those?) in Columbia when the timing belt shredded.  The time I blew two tires on one pot hole trying to leave Rolla, MO.  I wish I kept the e-mail I sent to my English Lit professor.  He said it was one of the funniest things he's ever read.  The countless rides that AJ and I took after I would get in a particularly nasty fight with a girlfriend.  Or, one of my favorite stories, when I spun off of I-35 during a blizzard while on the phone with Matt.  I can only imagine the terror he felt while listening to me freak out mid-spin.

All of those stories and memories are why today, when I got my quote from Pick-N-Pull, a company that buys "junk" cars, I was a little bummed.  I got an e-mail from Effie Logan stating they would buy my little baby for $293.  She's priceless to me, of course.  But, she's tired.  She needs rest.  So, our relationship comes to an end, as all relationships do.  My once happy girl, spotless and shiny, now sits in a dark garage, covered in dust.  It's the decent thing to do, to put her down.  Maybe her parts can keep other cars on the road, so other Eclipse drivers can keep making memories.

Rest easy, girl.