COMM 208 Article #1
A white, 1996 Pontiac Grand Prix sits quietly in my driveway. It is a long way from being the nicest or the fastest car on the market, but this car is important to me. I still remember the day I received it. It had been my stepdad’s work vehicle and I always remember saying how I didn’t really like the way it looked. Little did I know that years down the road I would grow to love the car and appreciate it even more when I received it on my 16th birthday.
Being a car that was made in 1996, there are some things about it that make it very unique. The shimmer of the white shell has been dulled as a result of shedding the protective layer. This would be more acceptable if it were more like a snake replacing that layer instead of leaving blemishes. A few scars mark the skin of the rear bumper from confused incidents and miniscule mishaps.
As I open the doors to get inside, a heavy weight pulls outward like outstretched wings. The doors seem immense due to the design of the model. A sweet scent of strawberries and wine cigars fill my nostrils. When inside, I automatically feel like I become one with the soft, gray seat cloth. This could also be a result of how low the seats suck me down into them. The steering wheel cover grips back as if it were giving me a handshake. The material feels almost like memory foam and I can’t help but to paw at it like a cat kneading its bed. Upon glancing in the back seat, I laugh to myself. A small tornado may or may not have torn through the car leaving a mess of clothes, CDs, and books in its path. No matter how many times I clean my car my entire life comes spilling back in. Turning my attention back to the front seat I notice all the little important things that have accumulated in my car over the years. A wolf and parrot stuffed animal sit side by side like partners in crime as they watch over me when I drive. They both hold their own story behind them. Purple and orange Mardi Gras beads glimmer in the sunlight as they dangle from my rearview mirror along with my Pizza Ranch visor. Jammed into my lighter outlet is a grinning skull that fails to do the one thing it was made to do, and that is to glow blue. That means I am left with a pale faced skull staring at me while I drive. If I hadn’t gotten it from my dad I probably would have taken it out by now.
After a short while of sitting in my seat I begin to sweat. The dark cloth interior holds an unbearable heat. I reach toward one of three buttons on my door panel and lower the barrier that is keeping me from fresh air. There are only two windows that roll down in my car and of those two only my driver’s side window works. Did I mention that I also do not have air conditioning? My friends always groan when they realize they almost have to die of heat stroke whenever they ride with me during the hot, summer days. It is always interesting when it is a person’s first time in my car. Everybody’s reaction is the same. I hear clicking noises coming from the passenger side and as I glance over I notice they are hitting buttons aggressively.
“How do you roll down your window?” they demand as they continue to jab at the buttons.
“It is broken. It won’t roll down,” I explain with an apologetic smile.
Regardless of any flaws my car may have, I still love it. I often find myself going on long drives alone, usually at night. The blue light from my stereo deck illuminates the interior as darkness surrounds my car. The windshield has a spider web of cracks etching across the expansion that creates an almost eerie effect. Here in my car I can just relax and take in my surroundings. This is my space. This is my escape.