Those familiar with my music will know that I have written at least as many songs about driving as I have about anything else. Possibly combined. Except weather, of course.
Cars are important to me. Not flashy cars, or expensive cars, but cars with personality, functional cars, practical cars, cars with a willingness to do the job. I’ve owned so many cars in my life, starting with a 1968 Chevy Impala, up to now, when I am once again transitioning between cars. And yes, there is a story.
I purchased Abby in 2011, the first major decision I made on my own after I left my marriage. I had been looking for a car to replace the junker I took with me, because of course I left the better car behind because that’s what we do. I had been looking hard, finding nothing remotely appropriate. Then one day a new car popped up in my search, a 2004 Ford Focus station wagon. I immediately called and went to see it. The salesman told me that they had kind of forgotten about her, she was sort of hidden away in their lot, had been for a couple years. I took her to visit my mechanic for a checkup, and though he didn’t say, “Buy this car,” he was all smiles. (He would never say that, but he was certainly willing to tell me what was wrong with the others I asked him to look at.) I adopted her that very day, and it was one of the best decisions I ever made.
She told me her name on the way home, Abigail, but I always called her Abby. She represented my new lease on life, my new freedom. She gave me a sense of ease and freedom, and I could fit all my gear in the wagon with room to spare. I was in love. And we traveled, we did. Oh, heavens yes. And they were good miles, some of the best miles of my life. She gave me wheels, but they felt like wings.
But all things end. It’s part of being a physical thing. Decay. Entropy. Death. Rust.
A few years back, she developed a weird problem; every time I’d step on the brakes the rear hatch would open. This is not good when you’re driving down the road with a guitar back there. I had one fall out. Fortunately, I was able to stop and grab it before somebody ran over it. The mechanic told me that all the wires from the front go in a channel back to the back of the car above the doors and the back window, including lights and the electronic door latch for the hatch, and sometimes the material the wires are wrapped in wears out letting wires touch, and mayhem ensues – and it would cost more than the car was worth to fix it. So we unplugged the door latch so it wouldn’t happen anymore, but . . . that story wasn’t over.
Eventually the driver’s side rear blinker and tail light stopped working when the headlights were on. Oh, I know, totally random, right? Nope. More wiring issues. And so on. And there’s a pretty significant amount of rust, and there’s been something wonky going on with the thermostat, even though we replaced it (I don’t think it’s ever been right since, there’s a persistent burning smell). And something in my heart said, it’s time. But I thought, Abby still runs great, she’s still solid as a rock, so I’ll start looking in May. I’ll have a little down payment, and I can maybe afford a little more car that way.
But once I made the decision, I should have known lightning would strike. Within a day of me stopping in at the bank just to see what sort of budget I could work with, I found my next car. And the day after that, I adopted her. My dear friend Jenny Wolffe says I’m a Manifesting Generator, and when I decide the time is right, whoosh, things happen. The right things, people, or circumstances materialize out of thin air. It’s uncanny, but this is exactly how I live my life.
The new car is not fancy, nor particularly exciting, but she’s exactly the kind of car I love and need. It’s another Focus, a 2009 with not a scratch or a mark on her. Literally looks factory new, except where the previous owner turned the music up. Apparently quite often. Otherwise, it’s pristine. The trunk looks like she never put anything in there at all. All the maintenance was done. Everything is perfect and in order. She’s so very blue. And once again, I’m in love. We were on the test drive when she told me her name: Niniane.
I’m donating Abby to an organization that gets good, drive-able cars to women who need them.
The tow truck is coming this morning to take her away. Last night I stood outside in the dark to say good-bye, with my forehead pressed against the doorjamb, sobbing my eyes out like I was losing my best friend. In a way, I am. She’s been there for me. She was waiting for me at the very beginning, and she’s never broken down on the road or put me in any danger. She’s a champion and a hero to me, and we were close. I told her secrets, I poured my heart out to her. And she carried me proudly, safely and lovingly through the most significant journey of my life. She got me here. So hell yeah, I cried long and hard. Saying goodbye is never easy. It shouldn’t be.
It was a painful thing. I thought about Crowley losing the Bentley (in Good Omens), saying, “I’m having a moment here!” and “You were a good car.” And that just made me cry harder. For Crowley, the apocalypse had to wait while he said goodbye to the Bentley. I think I might feel the same. Cars are important to me.
But painful as it was, it has allowed me to celebrate, too. I’m in such a fantastic place, I have a magical life-partner, who also shed a few tears at parting with Abby. Being here has allowed me to pursue my wildest dream and turn it into a growing business, and I need a new chariot for the coming journey. Abby isn’t up for taking me further on. Being a station wagon is hard, especially when you live with a musician. I am filled with a sense that a new auto-adventure is about to start, and it’s making me tingle with excitement. I know Niniane is the chariot to take me wherever I need to go. (She’s soooooo blue.)
Abigail, my true and trusty friend, may the road be kind and easy, may the wind gentle you along, and may all your journeys be sweet. I’ll forever carry you in my heart.
