A Love Letter (to a Car)

You were my first, how could I not love you? With your sleek, swooping curves, sunroof, leather interior, sunroof, and, most importantly, your promise of freedom. Even your name was sexy, the “Integra.” You were the ability to just get away- drive anywhere, anytime. If the stress ever got to be too much, you would carry me far away, with the windows down and the sunroof open, it was almost like flying away.

When I was 16, you were the dream- upon high school graduation you would be mine! When we went out together on the weekends, it was like we were invincible. You let us escape the ever prying eyes of our parents, and just be us.

 You carried me through 6 years of college, faithfully cruising the 130 miles down I-70, from Mizzou back to Shawnee, never once stranding me on the highway. You even brought me all the way here, 1500 miles to DC, even though you were 13 years old, never complaining or abandoning me. You carried so much more than you looked like you could, an entire apartment with your back seats laid down. Sure, there were battle scars- your leather upholstery carried deep gashes. Your body needed a little work from the normal college town abuse of other cars hitting you with their doors, but I never even noticed those things. All I cared about was that you were all mine, you were my freedom, you were my first love.

But now you’ve been stolen–you’re gone, probably to a chop shop, to be ripped door from door and sold off to the highest bidders. Even if you are sold whole, no one will ever love you like I did. They’ll never know the joy that I felt when I was with you, the excitement each and every time your engine turned over when I put in the key. And for that, I pity them- for although you will give someone else freedom while I remain trapped in this city, they will never know the true joy and memories that you could bring.

With love, and hopes that by some miracle you will return to me,

-Katie Heckert