Right: My cousin Scott and I with the Mustang on the day I left for Ottawa, November 1999
Most of us, at some point in our life, have come to the realization that a relationship is more work and expense than it's worth....that it's time to move on. Time changes things. They get rusty; they whine; and you look around and it seems that everyone else has it better than you do. The neighbors notice it's over before you do, wondering if you're ever going to make the break. But it's not as easy as it sounds. We get used to each other; we become dependent on each other; we shape each other's identity. But, at the end of the day, we realize that it's better to end it before things really go south and someone is left stranded on the side of the road. With this realization, it's time to acknowledge that we are coming to the end...the Mustang and me.....me and the Mustang...."us." It might seem quite silly to have such an attachment to a car. Mathieu might even chalk it up to the fact that I don't much like change. He would be right, as usual :) But can it be more than that?I think so. Because I have been through more with that car in the past 9 years than with most people. I remember the day we met like it was yesterday. It was just after University, after I landed my first "real" job that I drove into the Ford Dealership in Pocatello, Idaho at 8:30 p.m. thinking everything would be closed. I had never considered owning a Mustang. I didn't even like them. But there she sat between four giant pickups who would most definitely find homes before she did. I have regrettably always attached emotions to inanimate objects, but I'm convinced that the Mustang was lonely. Unbeknownst to me, we weren't alone at that moment. A round, mustached, type-A salesman with a red face was eating his supper just inside watching me eye the car. He still had mayonnaise on his chin as he sort-of- trotted toward me. And when I sat in that car for the first time I came to two conclusions: 1. Any red-blooded American girl from small-town Idaho who isn't a sucker for a new Mustang just "aint right." and 2. That Pudgy the salesmen better get his greasy sandwich-gripping fingers off my leather-wrapped steering wheel before I pummel him. He knew nothing about the car, and I didn't care. Like all of the happiest moments of my life, I was playing a music video in my head of the Mustang and me to a Bon Jovi song. The decision had been made. The next hour was a blur....pudgy man hopping around between the office and his desk...signatures...calling in the none-too-happy shop guy from home to prepare the car....the finance guy looking down his nose at the pickle Pudgy had clinging to his tie. And then it was time. Even the disgruntled shop guy was in a good mood as he drove her into the showroom (for the sole purpose of allowing me to drive her out again like in the movies!) And with a blur of paperwork, a slap on the back and a giant ham thrust into my arms, I was on my way. Makes perfect sense to get a ham with your new Ford Mustang. Perfect sense indeed. I was at least two miles away from the dealership before I realized I was still clutching it with a stupid grin on my face. Our first date was my five-year reunion. As my classmates sat in a circle, with their children sitting in the middle, I at least had someone to introduce! And so began our time together....the first flat tire.....first scratch, even a speeding ticket. She'd hear me cuss when I was late for work, or cry, when I had dropped Mathieu at the airport yet again, or have great talks with my friends, or let some liquored up soul out to do what drunk people who ride in the backseat of Mustangs have to do. And then came the adventure that forever sealed the bond between us. The day after Thanksgiving my family and I packed everything I could fit into the back of the Mustang and I headed off to join the love of my life in Ottawa. I drove 48 hours straight with my globe in the front seat and my mom's old set of Betty Crocker cookbooks somewhere in the back. It is a decision that I have never regretted, and one that was made easier because I still had my car, something familiar. And what a car she's been....3 hours round trip every day to New York for work when I couldn't yet work in Canada. Mathieu has warmed up to her, too, and affectionately calls her the "tank" in reference to what a solid car she's been. We both struggled to make the payments during a time when a car was a luxury, which has made her "ours" more than "mine." It also said a lot about Mathieu, that it was a luxury he would afford me...and understand all these years. I dropped Mathieu off for his first day of work at Nortel Networks in the Mustang. We drove her across the border on December 2, 2000 to a little yellow church in Massena, NY where we were married. And, perhaps the most poignant, is that aside from those cookbooks and a few stray possessions I still have from that initial trip, she is the last remaining memoir of a life lived before Ottawa. So, yes, it's just a car. Yes, it's probably time to stop battling repairs and the Canadian winters....time to move on. And I suppose the time has passed in my life when something like a car can ever have such significance again. But we've had quite the journey. Perhaps when that new car does arrive, we'll buy a ham....just to celebrate.
