Farewell Old Friend

The tears were stinging at my eyes as the soap suds were splattered onto the windscreen. As the roller brushes started their swishing movement over the bonnet the tears spilled over and there was no hiding anymore.

Over the last few months it had become clear to me that my dear little car was due for replacement, but while I knew at a logical head level I wasn't prepared for the wave of emotion that would knock me over. For that car represented a hell of a lot more to me than a way of getting from A to B.

This was the last wash I would give my beloved little car. It was time. I 'should' have been really happy to be on the way to pick up a brand new car, 38 km on the clock, all shiny and smelling new. But something hit me sideways as I sat in that carwash. Right in the heart.

I bought her, brand spanking new back in 2013. I was actually test driving another brand of car when I drove past the Audi shop, catching sight of the stylish little A1. A snazzy white little nippy car, with a unique steel grey roof colour (no it's not black like all of the others), the the side mirrors coloured to match the roof, 19 inch wheels with low profile tyres, special LED front lights, automatic, an awesome Bose stereo (that was way too big for the car), gorgeous trim and the sporty effects and trim that made it ... ping! I left the first test car in the car park and took this for a drive. Decision was made.

The big black, manual, 7 seater family car I had been driving was gone.

So over the next 6 years that little A1 carried me, my family and friends for miles and miles and created memories. There were the hot summer afternoons that I would wash the car while my daughter sat on the doorstep and played me her latest music. My son's grubby soccer boots thrown in the boot after another Saturday morning soccer game. The dogs in the boot too as the sand dropped off their coats from a lovely beach walk. Friends of the kids dropped off home after the movies and the cackling women friends taken home at sunrise after a terrific night out. The learning those 'drops' and beats as my son turned to DJ on our roadtrips, while listening to the riff that I may have never noticed otherwise. The dancing that could be down whilst in a seatbelt! All our gear squished in so we could stay on the mountain and ski for a week. The kids taken to school, the groceries done and me transported to work, choir and the gym. The mundane, the exciting, the independent, the family and the friends.

I loved my car. I was unashamedly proud of it. People knew the car - it was pretty much the first of it's kind in the city I lived in. It was fully mine and we suited each other. It zipped me all over the North Island of New Zealand, sticking to the road and I was confident in the performance when I put my foot down on the accelerator. In fact, when the turbo kicked in, the acceleration was intense, the first time I tried it was quite frightening with the power. The kids were not ever going to drive it!

I did prang her once. Going straight through a roundabout is not usually a problem, unless you are in the wrong lane. I felt sick. The repair was more about the paintwork and she was back to her pristine self. I was so sorry for the damage I had caused!

She was washed and vacuumed regularly. Yes I was proud of her.

She was tiny but piled to the brim when she drove me away from my marriage and then two years later she was snuggled into a container, onto a boat, sailed around the world, and off loaded in Dublin, Ireland. Yes, I loved the car so much I brought her over with me. I didn't have much to bring - a bookcase, a desk and my sewing machines were the only other things in that container. It was a new beginning. The bits and pieces I had sold or given away were just 'things'. I remember reading somewhere that if you couldn't bear to part with 'things', did you own them or did they own you?

It turned out that my little car owned a part of me.

I was a bit worried about my 'precious' in Ireland. There was no garage to put over her roof and the roads were rough and uneven on her low profile delicate tyres.

Somebody put a dent in the back side door - they may as well have backed into me for the pain I felt when I discovered it. Somebody cracked the back light. It upset me for hours. I was starting to feel a bit too connected to my car! Then somebody stole the side mirror and indicator only a few weeks ago. I got the last laugh when they would discover that the mirror cap was actually grey, not black. Everything was fixed, back to pristine condition.

A few months ago I picked my daughter up from the international airport in my car and as she hopped in she remarked that it felt like she was being picked up from school again. I drove my son around parts of Ireland and visiting friends and family were transported to and from the airport and around the country as well.

So as the tears spilled over, I started to feel a bit silly. I was trading in my beloved car for (wait for it) a large black, family type vehicle with manual gears and a sound system that wasn't a patch on the Bose. I reminded myself that a car was a car, but my little Audi A1 was more than that. She represented so much more and so many memories. She held my friends and family and followed me around the world. She was there during the biggest decisions of my life.

My apologies to the car salesman and thanks for that box of chocolates, but it was one of the saddest days I have had in a while.

My Irish fellow has his beloved old car to 'do something with' now and I completely get that feeling of connection and memories that makes him not exactly jump into action. But I can tell you that it won't take too long to enjoy those memories from the past and make new ones in the big black car that we have now.

Maybe I'll line up a little nippy zippy number for two or three years time......