Essay of 5 Photos: Valerie and Me

Some people drive to arrive, but I like to be on my way. I turn the key for an adventure. I drive to drive and it is incredibly convenient when I end up where I wanted to go. The bond I share with my car is one that is akin to friendship and beyond spirituality. Many people will say that cars are inanimate objects and that none of this is valid; simply the mindless ramblings of an infatuated enthusiast. And so, fine, whatever you say- that's cool. But I love my car more than you will ever know.

When I first picked her up over the summer after my freshman year in high school, she was really a wreck. And I mean that quite sincerely. But I already held that dream machine close to my heart. I was lucky enough that my mom was willing to fork over two grand in order for me to learn an invaluable lesson. My hope was to get an old classic car that I could learn to work on and customize to my every fit and my mom was hoping for the same, though for different reasons. My mom was willing to spend money to buy me a piece of junk so that I could put real work into it and through my hours of sweat and tears I would learn the utmost respect for my car. Indeed this is exactly what happened. The car made it home from San Jose that first day and ran like a champ the entire stretch; even though the sagging, pigeon toed suspension was difficult to control and there were more than a few sketchy quirks beginning to pop up. I didn't care though. I knew that I could fix the suspension, and replace the house paint that shelled the body with real car paint. I had no idea how rough a path I was actually walking, but I would tread on anyhow and gain a friend for life. My new companion would be dubbed "Valerie", and so it began.

I learned very quickly that Valerie had a very serious attitude problem, likely due to past improper maintenace, and that she was terribly resistant to my every attempt to help mend her. As soon as I fix one part, the other part connected to the first one would break, and so on, and so forth, until my frustration level would peak and I forced myself to walk away. Of course, this happened numerous times and occasionally multiple times a day. Though strong willed and free spirited as she is, at the end of the day, she is still the best friend I could have.

When I drive her, it isn't like operating a machine. It's more like she is an extension of my body. I feel the pull of the curves, the shuddering grind of brakes, the bubbling combustion of fuel, and the painful jarring of every pothole I fail to avoid. We are joined in a spiritual embrace of ten-and-two; my body giving directions while hers gives protection. Each of us giving all we have to help the other, just like love should be.

We may not always agree on whether or not it is yet "time to go" and there might be some debate of how many times we want to break down as we make our way to a destination, but Valerie and I have grown considerably together. After putting in years of work and love, her paint is glossy, her upholstery is spotless, and her engine hums blissfully down the road. She has a greater tendency to start when I ask her to, and doesn't even get jealous and act out when I'm with my girlfriend any more. Driving her home is what helps me roll past a hard day at work as any frustration or negativity is exhaled along with her exhaust.

 

My work will never be done. For the rest of my life, and hers, I will be making improvements and keeping Valerie well taken care of as I know she'll do the same for me. Even though there will always be more work to be done, she is the perfect car and I'm lucky to have her. And I'll be even luckier if she starts tomorrow so I can get to work on time...