Waiting

My car is sick. I mean that in the literal sense of the word, not the cool modern sense of the word. It is an SUV – so it is definitely NOT cool. It sort of makes me a soccer mom with one small problem, I have no kids.

Anyway, I bought this vehicle approximately seven years ago. When I bought it I wanted it. I thought that it was cool. I had always wanted an SUV. And hey, I lived in Bancroft, close to Algonquin Park and I wasn’t one of those crazy people who buy big SUVs and live in the city. I need the all wheel drive and ability to avoid ditches and tow stuff. The fact remains that when I bought it, I couldn’t afford it. This is why I’ve had to pay it out over an extreme amount of time. And it is also why car repairs freak me out. I still have an awfully high car payment that makes it difficult to pay for fixing. Now, given that the vehicle is approximately 7 years old, it is due for a round of repair...and I will start noticing that I will have to put more and more money in to my silver beast.

The good news is that I make my last enormous car payment in October – so I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. The bad news is that the car is in pretty rough shape. Currently, it threatens not to stop when I brake. Okay, it just doesn’t stop well. It sort of haltingly comes to a stop. This is a clear indication that I need a brake job...at least in the front end. Someone told me when this started that it was just a warped rotor. However, I am concerned that having left it so long has resulted in a seized or broken calliper. In fact, when I turn right and use the brake there is an unpleasant sound that resembles speaker feedback. That is the sound that worries me the most.

I tend to be a car hypochondriac. Every sound and bump worries me. So I take it in, and while it is in, I worry excessively about how much it will cost. Truthfully, I have a fantastic mechanic. It is a small family run business who bills you for your repairs at the end of the month and who know you by what you drive. I called this morning and said “Hi it’s Kate Cockburn calling” and the mechanic replied, “Ahh and you have a Santa Fe.” Then I tried to explain the halting stop and the feedback sound and I always feel really silly doing that. I think that mechanics should video tape people describing what is wrong with their vehicles. I’m sure that I would star in several of them – it could be a t.v. show like America’s funniest home videos.
Anyway, now I sit here. The car has been at the shop since 8am. It is now 1pm. I feel like an anxious parent or family member waiting for someone to exit surgery. I’m not sure if the surgery will work or if the someone will be able to function like they once did. This car is something I use every day; it allows me connection to the outside world, namely, the city; movies and shopping, visiting friends. To me it is a lifeline, not simply a luxury item. It is also the first big item I was able to purchase all by myself. Even if it was a poor financial decision, the car and I have history. I even have accepted the fact that the car will not ever be able to be a traded in. It is far too beaten up to ever get my money out of it. I’m sure that any car dealer that saw it coming would wonder how the hell they would ever be able to get it off the lot.

But it is mine. The beast is mine. It is a symbol of my adulthood. It is also a symptom of my adulthood. It is the reminder to always call my father before I spend a bunch of money on something. As much as I hate to admit that I have to do that...this adult knows where her weaknesses are. It is one material possession that straddles my two very distinct life paths. It has been part of an end and it has helped me have new beginnings. It has moved people out of my life and into my life. This vehicle has known two incarnations of me. It not only is my lifeline, but it is also a monument, a history of my travel into my adult life. So, really, why am I so worried about cost of repair? I have weathered far more expensive moments. So I will wait in anticipation, because repair, whatever the monetary cost will only serve to allow my car to valiantly drive me into my future. Perhaps one day it will realize its image and I will have car seats and soccer balls, ice-cream stained seats and goldfish crackers on the floor. Or, maybe it won’t. Maybe it will be like me...unsuspected, not what you think. Following a different road to get to my destination – because, that makes all the difference.