How long has it been since I felt the comfort of knowing I was well taken care of?
How many weeks have I wilted away in the garage? My suspension rusting, metal corroding and the very engine inside me crying out for a replacement car battery.
I worry about the seasons trickling past in the window and long to feel the cold wisp of air against my window shield. I used to be Larry, brand-new, shiny, red, racing down winding ocean roads with fresh tyres. Sandra and I used to have so much fun. Most importantly, I was cared for. I would have regular maintenance by the most trusted professionals. That had been the height of my life.
Now, I can’t even remember the last time I’d felt the calming presence of my favourite local car mechanic. My spirit is wavering. The glint of the unused tools catching in the sliver of light from the crack in the garage door reminds me to not lose faith. It hasn’t been the same since David and Sandra had their baby – I knew things would be different but I’d never imagined this.
The last road trip seems like only a distant memory to me. I bet the local car gossip has been anything but flattering to me. Cars meeting out in the car parks, whispering rumours that I have fallen so far to even have lost my roadworthy certificate. Near me, I can feel the shut door looming overhead as an ever-present reminder of a life I used to live. Maybe it was better that I was trapped in this garage, I thought with a heavy sigh from my deflated tyres. Parking next to me would only be an uncomfortable chore for whatever unlucky car found itself in the lot nearby at this point.
The freedom of the open road still calls out to me. I would even take battering rains if it meant I could squeak my windshield wipers one final time.
Oh, to be so lost – wait. There. In all my rumination, I almost missed the gentle turning of a doorknob. It seemed my calls had been answered as someone flicked the garage light on.