Franklin Avenue

Farewell, Old Friend
I saw my car for the last time yesterday.

There he was, covered in dust, sitting next to all the other injured cars waiting for service at Honda of Hollywood's body shop.
But my car--affectionately known as "3Ske" (those were the first few digits of its license plate)--wouldn't be getting repaired. And he wouldn't be coming home.

The driver who smashed into 3Ske (see post further below) really did a number on him. Mercury Insurance has decided to total the car and settle out rather than have 3Ske fixed.
I didn't know this when I sent 3Ske off in a tow truck, bound for the Honda of Hollywood body shop soon after the accident.

3Ske wasn't the jazziest Honda Civic DX on the block. He was my first car, after all. Didn't want to spring for fancy extras like "power windows" back then. No, I cranked my window and manually locked the door. (It was old fashioned, but it was also more organic.) No souped-up spoilers. He didn't even have cruise control.

But 3Ske was reliable. He traveled with me to Las Vegas. To San Francisco. To Portland. To Chatsworth. (A lot, actually, to Chatsworth.) He was there when I first met Maria. When I switched jobs. And at countless other life moments.

3Ske was a part of my life. So when the tow truck took him away, it didn't dawn on me that I might never see him again. It wasn't his time, after all. 3Ske had just 65,000 miles on him -- even though I bought him in June 1996. He was still so young. There were plenty more memories we needed to share together, like buying a home. 3Ske would have liked being parked in a two-car garage.

It was all so sudden.

That's why I stopped by Honda of Hollywood yesterday. I needed closure.

Eileen from the body shop gave me the key, and left me alone. I walked up to 3Ske. Sure didn't look like himself. Like I said, a coat of thick dust coated his body. The damage to the back of the car was extensive-- I'd forgotten just how bad it really was. This sure wasn't the 3Ske I wanted to remember.

I opened the door, and sat in the driver's seat. Just like old times. But this would be the last time. I sat there, just like I had a million times before. I put my hand on the passenger seat, just as I would on occasion when I was driving by myself. I fiddled with the radio knobs. Played with the air conditioning control. Open and closed the glove compartment.

Then it was time to go. I took the last few belongings I had in there-- my Northwestern license plate holder. A pair of sunglasses I found stuck between the seat and the parking break.

I said goodbye.

3Ske wasn't the coolest car, wasn't the most comfortable car. But he was my first car. And you never forget your first.