The Exile of a Buick

She’s gone. I swore I wouldn’t cry. I swore I would hold strong. I had nearly forgotten her, rusting in front of my parent’s house, awaiting retrieval from a donation company. But I had to move her today. I took her for one last drive, a maximum of a hundred feet, and I remember all the times we had together, even if she is falling apart. With everything else going on, it was hard to keep my eyes dry. This is hyperbole, actually, however it did make me miss the car. The way the wheels squeaked as I turned. How she shuddered when I applied the brake.

My life has been filled with change, and this is another one of those drastic life alterations. It was given to me by my grandparents, their old car, when they were looking into a new vehicle. It got me through the last year of college and another four or five years now. It had no AC since pretty much I owned it. It got me through Kentucky, when the problems really started. It had gone three emissions tests where it was touch and go whether or not it would pass, and now it did not. Due to the number six piston not having enough pressure. There’s also an issue with the axle, but I don’t know how bad that is. The piston alone is a $1500 to $2000 fix. This is the final time I would see her before a truck came to pick her up. Good bye, friend. Thanks for the memories. Serve some kid well before breaking down on the highway and becoming one of those stories they tell their kids.


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