The Relationship Between My Cars and I

Essay by g_of_tonguesCollege, Undergraduate May 2008

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Jadranko Medic

April 23rd 2008

English 101

The Relationship between My Cars and I

Cars and I have always had an interesting relationship. We have a sort of love hate thing going. The feel of the stick, the smoothness of the gas, it makes me feel alive. Then there is the search, the journey to find such stimulating machines. The smoothness leaves it is replaced with a grating, the stick jerks and shakes, what has happened to my precious? The search the drive I feel alive until if fades and then I hate.

How can I love something one minute and hate it the next? The speed the handling I love it. It is a sleek beauty moving effortless through the streets. I scrap it leaving the driveway. Gas prices rise, my beauty demands more money. I loved her she was beautiful but the sacrifices she demands and the gratification she no longer gives is it worth it anymore?

I need something to make me feel alive; I need a something, but what? Where do they come from, this glorious beauty I need? An auctioneer calls out a price, suddenly I know.

There she is running so cleanly. Five hundred a thousand, for double that and she is mine. I want her I need her I've found her I own her. The auction it had what I needed. Such power, such love, it can never end. She will serve me, I will love her I will feed her and give her life and in return she shall give me mine.

My baby she gives me life. I jump in and start that engine and my heart races. I gun her down the street the engine races, I feel so alive. I make a turn; I down shift, a grinding escapes from the chassis. My heart drops, my love what is wrong? I step on the gas; the response is slow, what is wrong? The love I had for her is leaving. She has betrayed me; she is letting me down, my baby what happened?

The feeling I get from driving a car can't be beat. It is exhilarating it gets me high like nothing else. I love the way a car looks the way it moves the way sounds and smells. But as my baby gets older she starts trying to leave me. She is no longer sleek and beautiful. No longer does she attract stares and gasps from people I pass by. Slowly my love turns to hate. I hate this piece of crap this rusted pile of scrap metal and bolts. It basically boils down to this, I find her I love her I drive her I am alive and then the deterioration the hate seeps in, my beauty…Junk her.