End of an era -- but a new beginning

We said goodbye to a beloved member of the household recently. This member has been a faithful companion throughout the last 14 years, making the transition from our single lives to married, going on trips with us, costing us money, etc. 

It never had a name, but it never complained. At least not about that. It complained plenty about other things, particularly about having to leave behind our garage when I moved to Maryland. 

"What do you mean, I have to stay out in the elements from now on?" my car complained. "I wanna see my contract. Doesn't my contract stipulate I have to have a garage? With heat?" 

"Look," I said. "No one wishes we had a garage more than I do, but that's how it is here. No one has a garage."

"Uncivilized," the car muttered. "I can't believe you've dragged me out to this uncivilized island-of-no-garages."

"At least you don't have the indignity of being pushed out of a garage by a bunch of junk, like lots of other cars."

The car did not seem overly thankful for being spared this. "I wanna move to Florida, then," it said. "My contract says something about Florida, I'm sure."

I was careful to never take it to a warmer state, however, lest it refuse to return to its less hospitable, garage-less home. The car's dream of someday retiring to Florida never died, and I racked up so many miles on it that I began to fear the car itself would die. Finally I decided that to keep it one more winter might do it in for good. Plus, I was beginning to notice that newer cars had a lot of nifty features that mine did not -- doors that opened when you wanted them to, for instance. 

As much as my car wanted to retire, however, I felt guilty for planning its send-off. I took to talking in whispers around the car so as not to arouse its suspicions. "So," I would say casually to the Hero, "when do you want to go look at n-e-w c-a-r-s?"

When we finally took the plunge and took the car to be traded for a new one, I was flooded with guilt. It had been such a faithful companion. It had been with me twice as long as the Hero. It must be feeling abandoned, lonely, worthless --

"Whoo hoo! Florida, here I come!" it yelled from the dealership parking lot.

I guess I needn't have worried. 

"Don't forget to write!" I yelled, but it paid no attention. It was figuring out how to make its way south.

As for me, I don't mind being left behind in garage-less Maryland. I am totally loving my new seat warmers...