Our 1961 Mercedes Benz Ponton that is.
I remember the evening Tim and I met. He walked me out to my truck and drove off in this round top antique car, the diesel motor chugging along. The next Sunday I said to our priest, "Tell me more about this sweet guy with the cool car."
Our wedding photos show us sitting in the front seat as we were waved off, the tulle from my dress almost spilling out the window. I later took one driving lesson and realized that the combination of figuring out how to shift on the column and worrying I would wreck Tim's precious car kept me from ever trying to take it out of the garage.
I recall the day we were painting Will's pinewood derby car last year and as he was carrying the can of paint down the steps tripped, splashing bright red enamel all over the car. We both screamed and I went into complete panic mode, thinking I had ruined the finish. Luckily Tim drove up right then and pushed the car out and washed it off, with not a speck to remind us of the incident.
Soon our car will become someone else's and I have to remind myself that it is just a thing, not a talisman for our relationship. It will be easier to move without having to figure out the logisitics of transporting a car that can carry no children.
But I might still cry when it goes put-put-putting away down our street for the last time.
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