Realizing Provision

Hey Saturn Ion,

You have been in my life for about 13 years now, and that’s a substantial chunk of my life. You were pretty cool back in the time when Ricky bought you, what with your clamshell doors and all. Ricky says you’re still cool. I will keep trying to believe him.

And now, after much contemplation and procrastination, you have been replaced.

I would like to at least say goodbye.

You did not always perform perfectly, but few of us do.

You got me back and forth to a lot of places.

You may also be part of the reason I have some gray hairs at age 23, but hey, none of us is perfect.

To be fair, not all the stress connected to you was your fault.

I should not blame you for the sins of the trucks or the sins of the rodents.

It wasn’t your fault that the trucks sailed over the recently rain-filled potholes on our lane and completely splattered your one side.

It wasn’t your fault that I seemed to only discover this right before I had to leave for school.

It wasn’t your fault that at school I was teased about my enjoyment of mudding.

(I don’t know if I ever took it to school when it was this bad, but the teasing was valid.)

It wasn’t your fault that the rodents chewed your wires which made for an interesting trip to and from school one day; it wasn’t your fault that:

• The needle on the speedometer did not increase with the speed of my car like it had always done in the past.
• I drove excessively slow through the 50 km/h zone to ensure that I was not unknowingly speeding.
• The driver of the car that came up behind me happened to be my teacher. I turned left to take an alternate route and breathed a sigh of relief when she did not follow me. I could continue driving my unidentified slow speed.
• This particular afternoon, one of the boys from my class needed a ride home. (I didn’t get to take boys home very often.) I don’t remember if I gave him all the disclaimers about my car before we left, or if I only started with the explanations about my car as we left the school parking lot.
• As I accelerated down Hergott Rd., I discovered a new problem. My speedometer needle moved again, but this time the car did not accelerate beyond about 50 km/h. We scarcely scaled the Hawkesville Hills. My car loudly protested having to work so hard the whole way, but we made it to his house.
• The car continued its slow and steady pace the rest of the way home. I felt terrible for the funeral-procession-like line of cars behind me, so I pulled off periodically to let them all pass.

I shouldn’t blame you for all that, Saturn Ion. I should thank you.

You have taught me to give cars that drive aggravatingly slow speeds in front of me the benefit of the doubt. You never know when car wires have been sabotaged by rodents, and those poor drivers are going just as fast as they can.

I’m not sure if I should blame you or thank you for this, but you definitely got me praying over you or in you more than a few times.

I prayed when you had terrible tires and I slid two different times on the same icy spot on the way home from school and ended up facing the other direction on the other side of the road. The first time this happened, I pulled into a parking lot and decided I was not driving further. Both Mom and Dad had to come get me. The second time it happened, I pulled into a parking lot until I could breathe normally again, and then I kept going.

I prayed when you lost your brake shoe (I didn’t know brakes had shoes) on the QEW and brought me to a shaky stop at the side of the busy highway. I really prayed when I discovered that the brake pedal went right down to the floor and did next to nothing to stop the vehicle. I prayed when I had to cross over two lanes of traffic to get to the exit ramp where the tow truck was coming to get me.

I prayed that you would start after the rain started having adverse effects on you. You would almost always start eventually, but it was so unnerving to not know how many times I would have to try to start you and pump the gas pedal. Sometimes you needed Dad to pump the gas pedal because he was better at doing it the right number of times to get you going without flooding you. Sometimes I just needed to give up and call someone, and then you would start.

I was going to give up on you long before I did.

But this fall, when I really needed you to work so I could keep my commitments, you really picked up your game.

You still had me praying when you shuddered when I stopped at lights and when you sputtered after I filled you with gas.

But you kept coming through. Thanks for that.

I’ve heard that the most important thing is finishing well, which is why I’ve decided to stop while you’re ahead.

Maybe you won’t die any time soon.

Maybe you will still give a brave soul some good use.

For you and me, though, dear Saturn, I think this is goodbye.

Thank you for our time together.

And if you ever do give up the ghost,

I hope you rest in peace, dear Saturn.

Love, Kerra