Hubby was driving my Jeep Liberty yesterday and called to say that she’s bleeding and crying out in pain. Well, actually he said that when he was turning corners there was a squealing sound and that the car was leaking something onto the driveway.
But, I heard bleeding and crying out in pain.
I love my Liberty (in more ways than one, but this is about my car). When they came onto the scene in 2002, I was totally smitten. We’d play “Find the Liberty” when we were in the car, 4 points for a burgundy one (my fave), 2 points for a silver one, and 1 point for all other colors. It was hard to wrack up pointage back then, even on a long trip we took to Nashville for my hubby’s marathon, there weren’t that many out there.
I just loved that it was car-like, could fit into compact car parking spaces, and was still cute and definitely not a mini-van which, I had an aversion to.
Whenever I saw someone in a LIberty, I’d say, “You lucky dawg.” I really am not a “car person” but Libertys really spoke to me.
One day hubby came to the shop for a chocolate strawberry, it was April 30, 2003 to be exact. Hubby coming to the shop for a chocolate strawberry in the middle of the day was odd, but whatev. He asked me to walk him to the car, and we saw a burgundy Liberty parked in the street, it had cloth seats (I had an aging golden retriever, Max, and he loved to ride in the car, so I wanted cloth seats so he wouldn’t slide around) and all the bells and whistles, and SURPRISE, it was mine!
Shut up! I was jumping up and down, and hugging and kissing that man of mine.
My Liberty carted both our kids off to college dorms and apartments all over. The kids drove her all the time, she is beloved and is such an integral part of our past. She’s hauled our bikes to all kinds of bike paths and towns. She’s a pretty workhorse, and hardly has a ding on her. This girl has packed in some serious memories over the past 11 1/2 years. I just love my Liberty.
She’s fading now, there is even a bit of rust on her. We take her for regular check ups at the local repair shop like a little old lady getting her cholesterol and blood pressure checked. She’s got about 90,000 miles on her, and she still fits me like a glove. Her “git up and go” is a little slow, but she still grooves in overdrive through the snow.
It’s funny how sad I am that she’s sick. I worry that eventually something will happen that will make her “terminal” and I will have to let her go. This makes me so sad. She’s just a car, but she’s unique, and if her interior could speak, oh the stories she’d tell.
So, we wait anxiously for a call from the mechanic, saying a little prayer that Liberty will be healed, and will go that extra mile for us again. She’s just a car, I know, but I love her.