I remember the first day I met her, eager, excited, and young. So young. She wore a strand of pearls around her neck, horn-rimmed glasses, and a lovely full-skirted dress with buttons down the bodice. Her sweater rested over her shoulders, buttoned at the top to hold it in place.
She was perfect.
I wooed her, showing off my best features, and it must have worked because her father approved and we went back to her place together.
We used to drive around, listening to music, just the two of us. Occasionally a friend of hers would join us, but mainly it was her and me. We were inseparable.
Until she went to college.
She still came to see me when she was home for the holidays, but those visits were so infrequent. I longed to be with her once more, cruising down newly-paved roads, going to the soda shoppe.
One summer, she came home with a boy and a new piece of jewelry. It sparkled in the sun and left bouncing rainbow patterns on every surface when she spoke with her hands.
I was horrified, and I had good reason. Others had told me she would move on, but I didn’t believe them. We had something special.
This was the beginning of the end.
The others were right. She tossed me to the curb and didn’t look back. No explanation. No apology. I waited in vain, but she never came back to me. She had a new life. A new marriage and a baby on the way. She didn’t want me anymore.
I moved straight past the crying stage into depression. I didn’t want to get up and go anywhere. I didn’t even think about sustenance. I just…was. And nobody loved me.
Who knows how long that lasted? Probably months. Maybe even years.
And then, suddenly, the sun began to shine again. A nice man pulled me out of my sorry state, took me home, washed me, fed me, and clothed me in the latest fashions. He cared for me, lovingly, for a long time. I think I was with him for about twenty-five years, though it’s hard to say because I don’t know for sure when he found me. In all that time, I never wanted for anything.
Until I got sick.
To give him credit, he tried valiantly to cure me. Every specialist we went to said they couldn’t find anything wrong with me. But I was having a difficult time getting going in the mornings. We tried changing my diet, to no avail.
Once again, I faced the beginning of the end.
He wouldn’t want me much longer. He couldn’t afford it. The bills mounted and he couldn’t keep up with the payments. I could feel the stress in his voice, see it in his movements. He even yelled at me once, but I know it was out of love and fear, rather than true anger. He was frustrated with life, not with me.
As much as he loved me, he had to let me go. I knew this and had resigned myself long before he actually did it. Our parting was so sad, almost like a funeral, though I hadn’t actually died.
The end isn’t so far away anymore. My wonderful gentleman listed me as an organ donor, so I’ll be able to help others. Maybe they’ll find a way to resurrect me, like some others I’ve seen. I’ve heard them say I’m a classic beauty, and I only get better with age. Until then, I’ll wait and donate what I can to those less fortunate.
It’s morning now, and I can see the junkyard operator walking toward me. It must be time for surgery.