Dearest Truck of Mine,

For the past five and a half years, you have been the best piece of junk truck a girl could ever ask for.

You've taken my friends and I to San Francisco countless times, and even made it through the grapevine into Los Angeles so I could go to a taping of the Price is Right.

You've given me freedom.

I've blasted music from you, singing along with the windows down and the heat turned up. Perhaps I shouldn't have played the music so loud, seeing as how only one speaker is still in working condition because of it, but that was the soundtrack of our time spent together.

I'm sorry for crashing you into the back of that red mustang. I know you went through a lot of cosmetic surgery because of it. Must've hurt.

I'm sorry for ruining your grill. In my defense that turkey came out of nowhere!

I'm sorry for the times I've pushed you a little too hard. I'm sorry for yelling at you sometimes. You know I really love you.

I know I didn't wash you very often, but it was only because I thought it would add more character (not that you needed it). Sorry I didn't clean your insides very often either.

I'm sorry you've had to help so many of my friends move. Just so you know, I didn't enjoy moving them either. I'm also sorry for driving around corners too fast. I'm sure that you didn't enjoy having all those beverages spilled in you.

Thank you for being there when I was pissed off at the world. Just a drive with you on quiet country backroads would calm me down. Thank you for giving me a place to nap between classes. Thanks for dealing with me in my teen years when I drove somewhat recklessly to impress my friends. Thanks for listening to me vent about the other people on the road. Thanks for letting me use you for impromptu tailgate parties.

And your seats! Your seats are the most comfortable trucks cushions I've ever sat in. Seriously. I wish I had been a passenger more often so I could've fully enjoyed them.

Now your power steering is going out, your speedometer does crazy things and is very unpredictable, and your transmission probably won't last long (this I know, because driving is getting scary. Everytime I accelerate you go "ga gung ga gung ga gung" and shake and jerk). I can't lock your driver side door from the inside, and I have to do some special jiggling with the handle. But that's okay. I think of it as our secret handshake.

Here's the thing, Truck: thanks for being there. Thanks for taking me where I needed to go. Thanks for keeping me on my toes but never actually breaking down on me.

I know our time together is rapidly coming to an end, but I just wanted to let you know, I've loved the time we've had. And I'll remember you always.

And in the future, when my children see photographs of you and say, "Mom? YOU drove THAT?" I will defend your honor. Because I know good things don't always come in pretty packages.


on the drive home from my previous (and most likely last) daytrip to San Francisco in the truck