The Life and Death of Cecelia

I loved my car. I bought CC (full name: Cecelia, the Chilean Cowgirl), a four-door 1988 metallic blue Subaru wagon, nearly six years ago in Denver from a postal worker, the kind of guy who obeys the speed limit, keeps the original key from the dealer in its original box for 12 years, and fanatically changes the oil every 3-5 thousand miles.

CC was everything a young, green-leaning Western girl could ask for in a car. Great gas mileage, lots of space (bikes, friends, all my worldy possessions), 4 wheel drive (high and low).

Do I sound like a car commercial? Nevermind. I know I do. I'm a self-described tree-hugging environmentalist, and I still can't stop talking about how much I loved my car.

So when Tony (my faithful mechanic) recently delivered the sober news, via mildly disturbing metaphor, that Cecelia had met her end ("Your car is like a really old woman. Sure I can replace her knee and hip, but it will be expensive and her heart will just give out soon. Get a new car"), I was shaken up. Sad even.

But rather than take Tony's advice and get myself a new car, I decided to try the car-free life for a while. Maybe a year. Yeah. A year without a car. I can do that. And save money. And help the environment. And maintain all the little pieces of my soul that I've been losing alongside the Beltway when I curse my fellow commuters for not having any f*#king clue how to merge. Merge, merge!!! Why is that so hard? Why didn't you learn this in driver's ed, you piece of sh@t.

Right. Well.

Back to the point (I have a point?). Yes. I do. Because even with all the good karma and extra money of my new car-free life, I still couldn't shake a bizarre lingering sadness. I actually felt a deep sense of loss for a hunk of metal, plastic and fabric.

What the hell? I mean, what is that about? Where was all this coming from? Is it because Cars=Freedom and the independence to run off to the woods for a weekend of camping. Is it because I had not once, but four times packed up my entire life (pets included) into Cecelia and moved cross country for a new chapter in my humble little life? Was it because CC had been with me longer than any job, house, lover or pet since I left home for school? Is it because I'm an American and Americans really do love their cars in some kind of maniacal, indoctrinated way? Was that me?

Anyway. I'm still not sure. But I am now car-free (well, mostly. CC has been parked on a side street awaiting pickup from my charity of choice for more than a month now) and documenting my new commuting adventures in this here blog.

Bye, Cecelia. It's been grand.