I recently bought a car for the first time in my life.
It isn’t brand new. Who needs new at my age?
My son went with me to the “dealer dance.” We had choreographed our moves and the salesman joined in with a few pirouettes of his own. I took my final bow with a very good deal under my tutu!
I had cared for my husband, who had Alzheimer’s, for six years before he passed away. I hadn’t driven in a long time because, though the disease robbed him of his judgment, he was smart and canny. I got rid of our cars knowing he would have found a way to drive. Uber, the bus, caring neighbors and our kids became our transportation.
After not driving for so long, some uncertainty about being behind the wheel again set in. But my car, a robin’s egg blue Prius C, is just my size. I call it The Bluebird because with it, I can fly the coop.
My driving record is spotless except for a few kerfuffles involving backing up. I once backed into a Cadillac, the driver being a tall man… but that’s another story. Needless to say, I need a backup camera, so I returned it to the dealer to have one installed. They gave this intrepid old lady a shiny, big beast of a loaner car that felt like a tank. I was happy to return it and see The Bluebird waiting for me.
Though we haven’t been together very long, getting into the car is like folding into the arms of my long-time dance partner. It takes me back to sixty years of happy times and bright horizons ahead.
