Here is an email I found that I wrote to several friends nine years ago today (March 18, 2004) in regards to the demise of my first pick-up truck, a white 1992 Mazda pick-up with an extended cab.
To those it may concern,
Alas it is with a very remorseful heart that I must pass on the news of the death of my pick-up truck. For more than four years I was with her, stood by her when times were hard, took care of her, and poured countless dollars into our relationship. But there comes a time when you have to take a step back and admit the commitment is not being recipricated. A tear streams down my eye even as I write this. We traveled many a road together, my truck and I.
From the beaches of South Florida to Michigan to Washington DC, through the southern roads of Mississippi. She died on Tuesday, March 3rd in way a vehicle should pass - on the road. About one hour outside of Tallahassee on the way to Jacksonville in a small town called Madison. A one-horse burg with a sole mechanic to witness her passing.
But his was the offical word, I knew the moment I heard the sound in the engine it was the end. A broken rod in the engine was the assumed cause of death.
In an attempt to move on with life I acquired a 1994 Ford Crown Victoria. Every time I crank it up easily, drive smoothly down the road, brake with ease, and accelerate with V-8 power I miss my old truck even more. Hopefully the person I ended selling her to takes care of her and gets her back on the road, where she belongs. Albeit without me.
Maybe it was meant to be this way.
One friend's response:
You know, Mikey, this should be performed as a monolouge on Broadway with just you on a stool strumming an oh so fragile country ballad on a lonely guitar and a slide show featuring a veritable menagerie (did I spell that right) of memorable images of your old girl.
I weep just to imagine it.............
