Can cars become real? And if so, how long does that take? I have a car, a dependable, sleek, not-quite-so-beautiful-anymore 1996 Honda Accord LX 4-door with a zippy 5-speed manual transmission that became real somewhere around 2006, when she was 10 years old.
At the time, I had a job requiring so many miles and hours on the road every week that my Honda became more of my home than my actual home or assigned work-chair did. And somewhere in that time, along those many miles, she acquired a name: Natalie.
The more scrapes she got me through, the more narrow the close call on wack Columbus highways, the more I loved her. After more than one death-defyingly dependable escape, I came to love her as much as a family member, and she needed to be acknowledged. Somewhere in that time, also, I began to address her, talk to her, and think about the state of being she liked to be in.
When I accidentally grind her gears in shifting and she protests by grumbling and grating her gear-teeth, I pat her steering wheel and tell her, "Sorry, old girl. I'm so sorry. I will be more careful next time."
I keep her clean, because as I tell my daughter and husband, "Natalie is a clean girl. She does not like to be dirty." And I know this to be the truth, because she drives more smoothly and has more snap when she is clean and shiny.
She's growing to be more like me with every passing year; she has a dent in the back left side, and more than one vandal or careless driver has put dents, dings and scratches in her once-lustrous silver-beige paint. But that's OK, because she is still beautiful to me.
Natalie also has a sense of style and likes to wear ornaments and jewelry in the form of bumper stickers. During the 2008 presidential campaign, she acquired a nickname, as well: The Obama-mobile. No one who sees my Natalie tooling quickly down the road can possibly have any doubts about her political beliefs: she wears the entire text of the First Amendment, an Obama for President, a PROUD DEM, and a peace sign bearing a quote from Jimi Hendrix that reads, "Only when the Power of Love becomes more than the Love of Power will the world know peace" -- and it is in rainbow-hued peace signs.
She has a necklace, too: there is an angel hanging from her rear view mirror that she and I have both credited with helping save us from many a scrape or would-be accident. Near that is my school parking permit.
Now, periodically my Honda dealership sends me letters telling me I am overdue for a trade-in and offering me flat cash money to buy back Natalie and trade "up" to a newer model, but she is far too good and loyal a friend to turn out to pasture just yet. Like me, she may have a few dings on her and not be quite as beautiful as she was in the prime of her life, but she has many good miles left on her and I fully plan to drive her until her wheels fall off. And even then, I'll probably have them put back on again and keep on driving her until we are both too old to navigate. At 135,000 miles, she still is only middle-aged and not ready for the junk heap yet.
(Shhhhh, shhhh, Natalie, it's all right; I didn't mean for you to hear that. You are a good girl, my good girl... )
The more scrapes she got me through, the more narrow the close call on wack Columbus highways, the more I loved her. After more than one death-defyingly dependable escape, I came to love her as much as a family member, and she needed to be acknowledged. Somewhere in that time, also, I began to address her, talk to her, and think about the state of being she liked to be in.
When I accidentally grind her gears in shifting and she protests by grumbling and grating her gear-teeth, I pat her steering wheel and tell her, "Sorry, old girl. I'm so sorry. I will be more careful next time."
I keep her clean, because as I tell my daughter and husband, "Natalie is a clean girl. She does not like to be dirty." And I know this to be the truth, because she drives more smoothly and has more snap when she is clean and shiny.
She's growing to be more like me with every passing year; she has a dent in the back left side, and more than one vandal or careless driver has put dents, dings and scratches in her once-lustrous silver-beige paint. But that's OK, because she is still beautiful to me.
Natalie also has a sense of style and likes to wear ornaments and jewelry in the form of bumper stickers. During the 2008 presidential campaign, she acquired a nickname, as well: The Obama-mobile. No one who sees my Natalie tooling quickly down the road can possibly have any doubts about her political beliefs: she wears the entire text of the First Amendment, an Obama for President, a PROUD DEM, and a peace sign bearing a quote from Jimi Hendrix that reads, "Only when the Power of Love becomes more than the Love of Power will the world know peace" -- and it is in rainbow-hued peace signs.
She has a necklace, too: there is an angel hanging from her rear view mirror that she and I have both credited with helping save us from many a scrape or would-be accident. Near that is my school parking permit.
Now, periodically my Honda dealership sends me letters telling me I am overdue for a trade-in and offering me flat cash money to buy back Natalie and trade "up" to a newer model, but she is far too good and loyal a friend to turn out to pasture just yet. Like me, she may have a few dings on her and not be quite as beautiful as she was in the prime of her life, but she has many good miles left on her and I fully plan to drive her until her wheels fall off. And even then, I'll probably have them put back on again and keep on driving her until we are both too old to navigate. At 135,000 miles, she still is only middle-aged and not ready for the junk heap yet.
(Shhhhh, shhhh, Natalie, it's all right; I didn't mean for you to hear that. You are a good girl, my good girl... )
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