Me: “What? Wait. What! You just …”
Mom and Dad: “No one was using it, it was just sitting out front wasting space.”
Me: “Wasting space! I loved that car … but … I didn’t get to say goodbye … how could you not tell me?!”
I was pissed. The deed had been done, and my parents sold Tyrone without a word. He was gone, and I never got to say goodbye. Peeling hood, messed-up interior, old tape player … I didn’t care, I loved that car. To this day, whenever I see an old Mitsubishi Galant I think, Tyrone, could that be you? I guess I’ll never know for sure.
I like to believe in my crazy head, if I ever did run into Tyrone again, I would know. We’d look at each other, the way people do when they haven’t seen each other in a long time, and they’re trying to figure out how the hell they know each other, and then all of a sudden realize, oh my god it’s Tyrone my old pal! And Tyrone would think, Holy crap, Lena! It’s been ages! Then we’d embrace and reminisce for hours over martinis about our carefree days of kegs and mixed tapes. Thank you old friend, I sure do miss you.
