This month marks Millie’s and my four-year anniversary. I remember well that day my junior year when we brought her home from the used car lot. Her licorice-red exterior, the black bedliner, the cute little cab perfect for two (or one with an overflowing laundry hamper) all seemed to whisper, “Come here, Anna! Let’s be friends! Think of all the adventures we’ll go on, the garbage we’ll haul, the furniture we’ll move! Who needs air-conditioning when you’ve got the back windows all the way open! We can even sing along to your “Celtic Wonder” cassette tape at some very high decibels! I won’t tell!”
How could I resist? Especially in light of the fact that for the first month of 11th grade I drove a $300 silverish-blue 1987 Crysler New Yorker named Hal who leaked oil and was constantly (and quite monotonely) telling me, “Please fasten your seatbelt. Thank you. Please add gasoline. Oil level is low.” (He also had difficulty going in reverse. Or going anywhere if it meant travelling at over 45 mph. Poor fellow, I almost killed him the first and only time I took him on the interstate).
Yes, Millie and I are just two free souls on this road called Life. One of us needs some more washer fluid.