But you were a blessing, Aggie, truly, a blessing. You have to know that. Like so many car owners before us, we thought that buying you might help save us. And for a little while it did. Then we moved to San Francisco.
Life got harder for you then. You had a relaxing trip out here—riding on the back of a flatbed truck—which was good, because when you arrived in SF, your life became similar to that of a farm animal. You worked so hard just to get around. I don’t think we properly prepared you for navigating the huge hills, and of course, you’d never seen anything but a proper parking space, with lines to designate where you should go. Parallel parking must’ve been confusing, not to mention the endless driving around trying to find a space. Oh, the wear and tear on your poor tires! I can’t bear to think of it now.
But what I’m most sorry for is the bullying and the abuse. We couldn’t watch you all the time—God knows, we wanted to, Aggie, but we didn’t even have a garage!—and how could we be responsible for what the other cars did to you? It broke my heart to see ugly dings on your beautiful front and rear bumpers every day, but I suppose eventually, you had to toughen up and learn how to live in the city.
And toughen up you did. I loved how we learned to work together on the big hills—me applying just the right amount of pressure on your clutch, brake, and gas pedals at exactly the right time; you idling at an even speed, rarely choking, burning, or peeling out. I loved driving down Gough Street with you, picking up just enough speed to catch some air as we crossed Turk Street. You were always magnificent—nay, you were flawless.
Then, your dad and I decided to go our separate ways. That must’ve been confusing and hard for you. I think the beginning of the end was the accident, though. He drove you right into a ditch. Hood first! Had I driven you that day, that never would’ve happened, Aggie. You know how careful I was with you! (It’s okay to admit now that I was your favorite, by the way.) But he was going on a “road trip” and needed the CD player. If he could’ve gone just one day without Neil Young and Mott the Hoople … who knows? Things might’ve turned out differently.
