Sunday, February 6, 2011

I Want a Car... My OWN Car.

At the age of 15, my father decided it was time I bought myself a car. Of course, there would be no, "Don't you worry, Mommy and Daddy will take care of you, we'll buy you a car." Quite the contrary, it was more like, "If you want your permit, you need to start working, If you need to start working, then you need a car. I was always a tight wad when it came to spending money, so saving up for a car wasn't a problem.

I can remember that summer rather vividly. I spent the hot, humid days working my tail off, trying to gather up as much cash as I possible could before my father found a car. Each week he would check the classifieds, and in most cases, go look at a car or two. Of course, he always came back empty handed. "It was in too rough of shape," or even, "too rich for our blood."

Up the street, there was a young couple trying desperately to get rid of their wrecked Ford Tempo. One day, while riding past their brick house, upon the dingy red hood dwelled a piece of cardboard box with the numbers 275 written in black permanent marker. I turned to my father and said, "I think we should go look at that red car."

An hour or so later, we found ourselves knocking on the front door of the couple's house. A man in a black wife beater and jeans stepped out onto the slab of concrete porch and asked how he could help us. "We just wanna take a look at your Ford over there," my father replied coolly. The next thing I knew, my dad tossed me the keys, told me to, "start her up," and he popped open the hood.

After careful inspection, we discovered that the car was not only missing most of the front end, it was also leaking transmission fluid and oil. As my father politely told the owner that we were no longer interested, I was already falling in love with the soft, red interior. I had already picked out her name, Delilah. You better believe I was just about heart broken whenever we had to walk the two blocks home without that car.

A few weeks later, my father peaked his head into my bedroom and said, "I think I found you a car. It's a 1991 Buick Regal. This older woman is trying to get rid of it, and it's in real good condition. She wants $900 for it, not too shabby." I closed the book I was reading, hopped off of my bed, and replied, "Is that good?" He laughed, "Yeah, that's as good as it's gonna get, Amber. You think about it if you need to." I shook my head, "No, go ahead and get it," I answered. Here is what it looked like before we had to junk it...


A few hours later, my dad pulled up in that grey beast of a car. He stepped out and told me to check it out. The interior was in prime condition, and the paint job was pretty decent, minus some scratches. My hopes and dreams of sunset joyrides, blasting rock music and having my first taste of freedom had arrived, or so I thought.

Upon turning 16, I got my permit. I soon learned that I was not permitted to get my driver's license until I had turned 18. Translation: that car sat there, only driven by my father when he took me to work for three years. Guess what happened once I finally turned 18? The stupid thing stopped running. I entered college so pissed off that I could have spit.

However, my trials were rewarded not too much later, thanks to my fiance, Joshua. He owns a 2001 Ford Escort ZX2 in Atlantic Blue; he absolutely hates it. Josh has had in and around six cars since he turned 14 (he is about to turn 21.) He also has a 1993 Honda Civic hatchback that he is currently fixing up.

I was griping and moaning one evening about not having a car while we were on the phone. All of a sudden he stopped me and said, "You can have the Escort, I can't stand the damn thing anyway." I nearly dropped the phone, stammering, "Wha wha wha wha what?" He started chuckling, "You heard me. Once I get the civic up and running, the Escort is yours."



I beamed in utter joy. Instantly, everything that I wanted to do to that car in order to make it mine starting bolting through my head at the speed of lightening. Visions of a jet black paint job, star shaped chrome rimes, red suede interior with black leather accents, and a body kit got me more excited than a kid in Toys-R-Us. Not to mention, I am am most certainly getting rid of those ridiculous neon yellow decals he has plastered all over the windows. Yes sir, I am gonna have my very own car, and it is gonna look like a dream when I'm through with it.

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