Farewell to the Red Star

I sold my old car this past week. My husband had lovingly named the old 98' Chevy Cavalier the Red Star. That car had been mine since 2001, when I bought it used from a mechanic in the small town I'd grown up in. The car had belonged to the mechanic's college age daughter, who'd driven it to Colorado and crashed it into a guard rail. Her father did a rebuild, bought her a new SUV, and sold me the old Chevy for a good price.

I loved the Red Star. I drove it across country on a beautiful solitary drive full of dry plains, mountain views, and soul searching. That car gave me hope at a time when I was struggling to get my life on track. I know it seems like a small thing, but wheels can give you freedom and allow you to do things that you might not otherwise. The car gave me a way to change up my job situation and to go back to school and pursue a dream that I couldn't shake at that time.

The old car was also special to me because my dad helped me find it and he even pitched in a little cash to help me buy it. He didn't cover the whole thing, but he did enough to let me know he wanted to give me a leg up. I didn't expect it either. Before he lined things up and helped me out, I was resigned to going on as I was without pursuing my dreams. But then out of nowhere, like an answer to a secret prayer, my dad appeared with a possibility. I'll never forget the joy I felt and the happiness to know he had faith in me. Since then, I've had little miracles emerge from other sources, but I'll never forget the huge miracle that came from someone so dear to me.

The Red Star allowed me to take jobs I could not have otherwise and it helped me finish a program of education (including internship) that literally gave me my dream job. I met my husband on that job. I drove to our first date in it too.

I sold the Red Star this past week because, after 8 years, it was getting older and a little less reliable than I wanted it to be. It needed some maintenance and I knew it wouldn't be a reliable ride for some of the dog-walking and volunteer work I wanted to take on this summer. It was time to sell or give it away, so I wound up selling it for an amazingly low price to a stranger I met at a car wash. Even though my price was super low, he pointed out every little flaw he could see. The stranger looked the Red Star up and down like a decrepit old horse at an auction. He jumped behind the wheel with no seat belt and beer on his breath, punching it into a fast speed on a quiet city street. He told me it was a gift for his teenager who drives crazy and ruined another car. I knew right then that the Red Star was probably not long for this world, but I didn't want to go through the hassle of picking a more caring buyer with current time constraints and the strain of paying insurance on two vehicles (the Red Star and my new vehicle).

I feel a little sad about the Red Star now, even though I'm driving a shiny Toyota that will most likely get me everywhere I need to go trouble-free for a long, long time. I could easily make a big list of sound reasons why I decided to upgrade. My life has changed since the time I bought the Red Star and I know I made the right decision, but I miss the old car. I imagine if I had more money, I would have had a little maintenance done on it, kept it insured, and just let it rest comfortably for its remaining years. Maybe I would have taken it for drives now and then on beautiful summer afternoons. That would have been a wonderful way to honor the old Red Star.