text: She'd been there for me since I turned sixteen. I was younger then, physically that much is obvious, but I was a younger spirit too. I didn't know what it felt like to breathe another person's air in, and I couldn't have known what it was like for someone to spit yours back in your face. I was only sixteen, and anything was possible, and she was my ticket to all those possibilities, to a life yet unknown. Carmen, my sister had named her, it was only proper that I addressed her by the same name once she had become mine. I'm the type who doesn't like changing the name of his pets if they've already been given one, I don't see why cars should be any different. Hell, I'd hate it if someone started calling me by something stupid one of these days for no good reason. But, I guess there's no harm in a nickname - still, she remained Carmen to me. In my youth I had mistreated her, as most youth do with most things they don't understand the value in. Tools were tools to me, and relationships were relationships, and my mother's fascination with dolls and furniture had pushed me even further away from subjectifying objects. I drove her too hard, I let my friends blast their shitty music at full volume through her speakers - I paid quickly for that one, poor Carmen never sounded the same after that first summer I had her. It didn't take long for her health to start to fade, she was an older girl, but she had been properly taken care of before me. Her brakes went out, her oil turned to slop, and later on, she'd punish me especially harshly by taking away her cooling capabilities from me - a sentence too cruel to be served in Texas, regardless of the crime. I learned a lot from her though - every time she'd let me know something was wrong, I learned how to fix it. She taught me to be attentive, to listen to every bad breath she'd heave, to feel for when her shoes would start to hurt in the wrong ways. I didn't become a mechanic by any means, but I was well beyond oil changes and brake swaps by my second year. By the end of her life, I'd fixed her bumper, given her cleaner headlamps, replaced the power window assembly on three of her four doors, you could definitely say we were well acquainted. That's what I think does it to me, now in our twilight together, she's not just a car to me anymore. I don't think she'd just been a car when I got her either, but now I know the difference. A car can take you places, a car has nice features and big cup holders and vents for the rear, but a car is just a means to an end, no more romantic than a high-tech wagon. Carmen was something else, Carmen was something to hang out with - I learned that on one of the many drives between college and my hometown. I learned it more deeply later on, on the drives I'd make to and from nowhere: excuses to hang out with Carmen. I remember the wind she cupped perfectly into my hair as I drove her on, the way she'd hum and purr beneath my feet so gently. I remember what it felt like when we were in our prime together. But, Carmen is an older woman - younger than me, but old in her years. Eventually, the years caught up to her; fixing her became more of a hassle, and made hanging out with her feel like something tedious. Her health got worse and worse over the years, and by the time I could start affording to give her the attention she needed, it was plain to see that we had outgrown one another. As she sits now, lonely and unattended to for far too long, a fixture in my garage, I wonder what to do with her. I love her, and I know she loves me, but the love is different now - love for a long lost past we shared. So, when I asked her this morning, it didn't surprise me that she accepted my offer - it almost felt like she had been waiting for this moment too. Carmen's moving on. She became far too costly for anyone who didn't understand her worth to sign up for; but, I found a service that lets me free her, one that lets me give her away. I don't know what'll happen to her once they take her, but I know what would happen if she stays. I hope they give her to somebody who can appreciate her, some one who can learn to love her flaws that make her unique. I hope they fix her up before they do, give her the makeover she so desperately deserves. But, I know they could just as well turn around and discard her at the nearest salvage yard. How many pieces of silver would she be worth for her flesh alone? I don't know what will happen to her if she goes - but I think that's just life; all I can do is hope. But, if there's one thing she's taught me: it's not about where she stops, but about the drive that got her there in the first place. I'll miss you, Carmen.