Ode to the Sammimobile.

Seventy-five bucks.

Oh I loved that car with my entire heart, for four years loved it, cleaned it and thanked it for each mile, gave it a name—the Sammimobile—and assured myself it would never let me down; said it would live for years to come and keep me company through it all. Of course now, in the hardest times it has died and I guess I’ve realized it doesn’t actually have compassion or a heart, it’s come to the end of its life and I remember all the times I’ve cried, pounded on the steering wheel, stained the seats with my anger and lust, lied in its midst, kissed passionately in its seats, had heated, important, life changing conversations beneath its roof, driven it as far as it would go and seen it rolling on fumes back into park, watched it stutter to a stop inexplicably only to burst into life again, kept me in close contact with family and friends despite any distance, kept us together for only so long before it was unneeded by one of us: him, and needed more than ever by the other: me. Sammimobile, you’ve kept me running and now that you’re dead I can really see the death in me as well—part of me will go with you to the junkyard, only seventy-five bucks worth, its true, and as much of an insult as that is I guess it really IS the truth—only seventy-five bucks and not all of what we’re worth is gone… not everything, not just yet. But really no one will understand the meaning behind this unfortunate and certainly unplanned event: you, car, you gave me the freedom and life I held onto despite the worst circumstances, you kept the music playing, you took me camping, you were my escape from this city I hate and cannot stand whenever I needed to go, you took me without protest and no matter how many times I heard “Its on its last leg”, I stubbornly insisted “The Sammimobile will never fail me.” Seventy-five bucks will soon be all I have to show for four years of life together, it’s a little ironic and extremely pathetic I’ve already paralleled this into something much bigger, the ball is rolling and its full steam ahead for this idea: You HAVE failed me and since I cannot be upset with him for letting me go I’ll take it out on you because you’re just a machine, you’re a car and you can take my anger and resentment because I refuse to take it out on him, although I know its this bigger loss that makes losing you harder. Because I don’t even have seventy-five bucks to show for him, I have a broken heart and a shredded soul, sorrow beyond words and four slowly crawling months that simultaneously feel like a single week of misery; how fair is it that you’ve left me like this after so long when I need you most, its not fair at all you’ve shown me loyalty and strength for so long, made it through three winters, survived a few repairs but nothing too harsh that you couldn’t withstand, there is no fairness in your sudden departure from my life and although everyone will laugh at your effects on me I can only cry because you’ve left me with the worst torture of all: The bus, his comrade in arms; I’m dependent on him all over again.