My Car, Like Me

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Every time I approach my silver 1999 Grand Prix GT Pontiac, I instantly convert the image to my old, light brown 2002 Grand Cherokee Jeep. I see my Jeep sitting there--smiling at me, waiting for me to get in and embark on an adventure. A type of adventure that would take me thousands of miles away, in a different world where I could be like Indiana Jones. I remember the moment when I passed the DMV testing to get my driver's license with the help of my Jeep. It was a magical feeling of goosebumps on my arm, a realization that this was the beginning of a long journey. My stomach jumped more than it does at the top of the 700-foot Giant Drop at Six Flags. My Jeep was a kind of Jeep that would have my back through everything, if I was a cucumber that is about to get sliced. I can still remember when I would just get in my Jeep and cruise around while listening to Green Day, Fall Out Boy, Bob Marley, or Sublime. The Jeep was like the Patrick to my Sponge Bob. It helped me to get over stress, drama, relationships, and concerns. My Jeep was like a second home; I was almost never in the house. I was always on the road. I would shower at my friend's house. I would go out to eat with my friends. The back trunk of my Jeep was like a closet; I had mountains of clothes and never had to worry about them being dirty because I would wash them at my friend's.

One night three of my really close friends and I were on our way to a party. We always get ourselves all dolled up in the Jeep, and turn up the music louder than an AC/DC concert as we chitchat about cute boys. Finally, we exited the Jeep as if we were celebrities on the red carpet, posing for paparazzi. The hours passed quick like a ball being thrown 90 MPH. Mist filled the air as I walked outside along with a really cute guy, holding hands like we were both shy little kids. His brown eyes were a spotlight, shining brighter than the stars up above. His hands were smoother than ice, but warmer than hot cocoa. As we were leaning against my Jeep, his stone-chiseled yet tender body tightened against mine, and we closed the misty air between us, both of us left breathless. We looked in each other's eyes, our lips slowly making contact. As our lips touched, we felt sparks bursting in our hearts. We went in the backseat of my Jeep, cuddled under the soft Bears fleece comforter, and fell asleep in each others arms. The sun began to rise and woke us up. After deep conversations and food-deprived stomachs, we decided to go have breakfast at IHOP. I would never forget that night. It would be always a memory in mind, being tucked away.

A couple of weeks before school started, on a steaming hot day, my friend and I went shopping for her dorm decorations since she was leaving for college. I realized that I only had thirty minutes to get to ICODA, the International Center on Deafness and the Arts, for dance practice, as the White Hare from "Alice In Wonderland." My friend's sister decided to come with me, so we went on I-53, during rush hour, while it was under construction. I felt like there was an aggressive Boston terrier tugging on my leg when I was trying to complete an impressive artwork. I did not want my choreographer to fall under the impression that I was bad. The jammed traffic barely moved. As we crawled along the asphalt, I talked with my friend. Since we're deaf, we were required to look at each other and sign. A white SUV in front of me moved faster and I started to follow the speed. I looked away for a nanosecond, looked back front again, and saw I was coming too close. I stomped my foot on the brake. It was too late. My Jeep slammed into the SUV. BAM! I was in shock, hoping to God that my Jeep could make it. I sprinted out of my Jeep, shaking, and slowly walked to the front. The whole engine was smashed. A tear fell down my cheek, and millions of others came rushing. My mascara was ruined, and I was shaking like it was 15 degrees outside. I knew my parents wouldn't be able to fix this. Right there, my Jeep died. I was torn; it was like a part of me died with it. Right there, my Jeep was gone... forever.

Now, I stare at my silver Pontiac. It constantly reminds me how much I've missed my Jeep. Flashbacks of all of the good and bad memories repeat in my head. The Jeep was my foundation, and without it, I am nothing. Don't get me wrong, I like the Pontiac, but I still miss my Jeep terribly... The Jeep was my Marley.





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