I love

Well, I’ve been trying to find my own way in life. I just don’t know what to do now that I’ve got this huge car lot full of broken-down, busted-up cars lined up in the parking lot of car graveyard. I mean, not really—they could get paid off for a lot of money. But, still, I’m the car woman. Grew up with them, watched my father auction them off, watched my mother buy them, watched my parents wave me goodbye as I drove away to school with my first car at sixteen and then fell in love with waving goodbye to old cars too dented and dying to be driven well. 

I love cars. I’ve had many, many cars, owned my own car-washing business. Sold, bought, driven, auctioned, built, modeled, given away many, many fancy cars. The fancier, the better. My husband and I have been so close. But lately, he’s just been the average Joe—waking up, working from home and going to bed. He’s gotten greasy-haired, sweaty and dirty like me, messing with these rundown, busted-up cars. I’ve always smelled of oil myself, too. In fact, I’ve always had to take two showers in a row just to get all the muck off me. Yeah, I’m the one to wear nail polish and cute dresses, that’s for sure. However, I just don’t see the point in marriage if I’m basically married to this car lot. Every night and weekend, I basically live down here.

Just me and the cars. The cars and me. We’re not humans, but does that matter?

My husband and me?

Not much fun.

I’ve really tried explaining my love—

“Of cars. Honey, we’re a couple.”

“Yeah, I know—”

“Then let’s be one.”

“We are—”

“But you’re married to all these things.” One time, he even kicked an old, rusty car! Horror plastered all over my face, I scolded him. He just laughed. And then kicked it some more. Angrily, he kicked at it again and again, me staring, aghast, at his horrendous actions. I closed my eyes, trying to shut out the nightmare.

That was last weekend.

I stood amidst all these cars. Rusty, old ones.

And sighed.

“Hey!”

I whirled around. “Hon—you there?”

Lanes of cars stared back at me. No answer from my husband.

I slowly turned back around. Actually, a screen blaring light at me like one of those roadside attractions glared at me. Almost blinding me.

Hm. Must be my imagination!

“Down here, silly!”

I jumped. “How—”

“Over here!”

I jerked my head over, and gaped at the car. Its headlights looked at me. Its front bumper’s edges curved upwards in a smile. My jaw went farther down. Then I collected myself. “You’re talking to me?” I pointed at myself.     

“Yes, ma’am!”

It closed its headlight eyes and then opened them again.

“Oh!”

I laughed. “What a neighborhood—”

“Or a world of cars. What do you going to do with all these? Auction them all off?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t know, car. I…my husband needs me back home, but I have a life out here. I just would like a little bit…” I blinked and bit my lip. If I gave excuses, the car might shut down. Turn off its headlights. Stop talking to me altogether.

But that came in handy as a male voice turned me around. “Hon, you okay?”

“Oh!” I laughed, embarrassed, as my husband picked his way through the narrow lanes between each car. I wiped my sweaty hands on my grey trousers, and wiped my dirty face. “Yeah—just—”

“Talking to someone.” He looked around. “Who’s out here?”

I felt the car didn’t want me to tell my husband I could talk to it. “Uh…no one. I just…” I shrugged and walked up to him. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I turned him around. “Let’s just go eat some dinner, okay?”

“Okay…” He did turn around slowly, but he kept giving me weird glances. Suddenly, he stopped. “Hon—what’s going on?”

“Uh!” I smiled quickly. “Nothing. I—”

“Am constantly smiling and looking down, like I have thoughts running through my mind?”

I grinned sheepishly. “Yes.”

He grabbed my hands, swinging them. He leaned close. “What’re you thinking about?”

We stood in front of our house, which was right behind the car lot. It’s always been there, since we’ve moved in the house. However, I’ve always seen it as always been there. Ever since I was a little girl. It was like it was there, the cars parked there forever. The blindingly light screen—the screen right in front of the first row of cars—glared at me. I didn’t really know why it was there, other than the fact that my husband and I would grab a bag of popcorn out of the microwave before heading down here and eating it right as the movie began. Actually, there was no movie. My husband just made up a movie, making me see the characters in my head. I would tilt my head back, my eyes closed, and imagine it all. The cows on the field, the wild horses with their manes flying. The duels between alligators and crocodiles, the hissing or the pan on the stove making bacon for the two of us. I would simply melt into the seat as the man beside me would go on and on about the adventures he had when he was little. He would always tell me wild stories of the West. He’d tell me wild stories of his childhood days, their farm and the horses. One horse was Bucky, his favorite black mare.

“A foreshadowing of you.”

“Oh! Wow. Thanks.”

He grinned, and I responded in kind.

As I cuddled up to him, I started smelling like gasoline, he said. We both laughed and we both went inside, took showers and cuddled up on the couch. We would always do that, the popcorn bag being forgotten. Being discarded in the trash.  

I blinked. “Oh—”

“Spit it out!”

“Okay, okay.” I bit my lip, thinking of how to say it. I shook my head. “No, I can’t. I can’t betray a friend.”

“Betray a friend? You’re not walking out on Suzi, are you? Or Angie, or Margot, or Beau or Kaitlyn? No? What’s going on? Because if you are, I’d like to hear about it. I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with me working so much. I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with your ladies nights or chick flick nights or girls weekends. You do a lot. Now, I’m not accusing you of anything. I just want to know. Please?” He put his hands on his hips. “Babe, what are you even talking about? You know, we never get a real moment together. It’s kind of like you’re married to these cars, and I’m just the car out in the garage. I’m not just a mechanical hunk of junk. I’m a flesh-and-blood person. The man you married two years ago. Please—try to understand. Our wedding wasn’t just a party. I love you. But you’ve replaced my love with more than just a car lot—with cars themselves. Look, I get it. You’ve been around cars since you were a toddler. But I want you to get out of the parking lot. You’ve never known what to do when it comes to cars. I mean, you’ve sold them, auctioned them off and other things, but you can’t auction me off. I’m not just someone to replace, like a car. You use it for a while, and then you sell it. You’re not selling me. You’re not leaving me. I’m not leaving you!”

His face shone with true, honest love and compassion. “Please! Come back. They’re just stupid cages of metal.” He wrapped his arms around me. “Please?”

He always acted like this. Begged me to come back to him. I had my life. My interests. I was me. I wasn’t just a homemaker. Someone who cooked and cleaned. Someone who was as interested in cars as he was in me. What I couldn’t fix he repaired in a jiffy. And what I couldn’t watch on TV, he replayed, and we’d laugh, throw popcorn in each other’s mouths and fall in love with the show. But, I scratched my head, did I love the show—

“No, I love you.”

“I know you do.” He stepped back. “Yeah, you do. You make me lunch, you iron my work clothes, you take me out with your girlfriends, you write the best cards for birthdays and Father’s Day and our anniversary. I should’ve pull you so much away from your love.”

“No, you shouldn’t. It’s something I’ve loved since I was born.”

“I should respect that. I love work. I spend hours and hours, but you never complain. Not a disappointed email flashes upon my screen, wishing me home again. You’re more loyal than any wife I know. Your girlfriends are loyal, but you’re the best.”

He wiped his nose. “But could you spend a little more time with me. Please—”

I shook my head. He was starting to sound like a whiny baby. “I can’t!” I stated firmly. “Bye.” My stomach rumbled. “Have some dinner if you want. It’ll be one the stove. Your favorite—chicken and rice, broccoli and steak tomorrow and French Fries and fish the next day. Sound good?”

“Yeah.”

But he blinked. Tears were in his eyes. He looked like he was saying something, but I wanted to get inside. Pursing my lips, I headed indoors. Whatever you are saying, you can tell me tonight when we’re watching TV, okay? Just get in here, and eat what I made you!

Walking inside the house, I made dinner, eat some of it and then went upstairs to our bathroom to take a shower. Appearing out of the bathroom in a night robe and pajamas, I clenched and unclenched my hands. I can’t. I can’t go back. But what if I do? I put my thumb in my mouth, and bit down. What if—

“Honey!” My husband had appeared at the doorway. “What’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird ever since you’ve been out there, talking to yourself.”

I jerked my head up. “Yes?”

He entered our bedroom, and grabbed my arms. “Hey, sorry about the other night. I wasn’t being fair.” He grabbed my hands, inviting me. “Come on! Let’s go snuggle on the couch, huh?” His eyes lit up, and a joyful smile was on his face. “Come on—let’s watch that hysterical show together, huh?”

“Okay.” But I was shaky and nervous about sitting with him while I thought of whether to tell him. But I’d betray my new friend, that car. Its kind smile and interesting way of letting me know it was alive wheeled through my mind all night long. In the morning, my mind was still stuck on that car. Did all the cars talk? That I had to find out.

Once I packed my husband’s lunch and he left for work, I sprinted. Stopping at the car, I unloaded. “See, I’ve been deciding to sell these cars, but I don’t know whether I should after you started talking to me. See, I have a husband, and he wants me to spend more time with him, but I’ve been selling and auctioning off cars forever—something I dread doing, but I also love it. But I hate it! I don’t make anything. A penny is basically a hundred dollars.”

“Uh…” A long silence before the car spoke again. “Um…you know what, I have my friends here.”

“You talk when I’m not here?”

“Yeah!” A mischievous chuckle escaped the car’s mouth.

“Oh.” I said flatly. Embarrassment turned my face a shade of scarlet, I felt. At least I was alone, and—I turned—my husband was still at work. When only one light—the kitchen light—was on, I blinked back tears for my husband. His car was still not home from work. I looked at my watch. 8:03 pm. He ended work five and a half hours ago. The next weeks, my eyes were always on my watch. 9:03 pm. 10:03 pm. Crawling into bed, I sighed and hoped he was okay.

Hey. I had grabbed my phone from the nightstand and texted my husband. You still up?

Yeah. I’m working, but I’ll be home in a bit. You?

In bed. It’s getting late. How long are you going to be?

A few minutes. I’ll—bye. My boss’s talking.

I clutched my phone to my chest, and closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. Then I went outside, to those cars. Was I wrong? Am I married to the parking lot? I shook my head. No, we’ve had good times. The beach, the gazebo, the Jacuzzi, the limousine and the traveling. We’ve done all that, and we’ve grinned and laughed and hugged and held hands through it all. Are we married to—

“Go away!”

“Oh.” The car spoke up.

“Oh no. not you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure…” I swallowed. What was I doing? Talking to a hunk of metal, as my husband would call it, was what I was doing. I inched away, and folded my arms into myself. My husband was right—I loved him more than anything and everything in this world. More than those crazy nights with my girlfriends and best friend, Suzi. I had more fun with him than them. Than with her, even! I even felt he was my best friend. Having known him since I was a college junior and he a senior, I watched him graduate and then he watched me graduate, which was years away from our wedding. But still, it was like yesterday. We were always together, almost inseparable.

“Yeah.” Another chuckle. I’d admit the car was cute, but it was a car nonetheless. A car with friends. I mean, I wished it would be the only car. It didn’t have friends. I had friends. But maybe those days were gone. No, they weren’t, I decided, and told the car I had friends, too. It smiled up at me, like, Good! I hope so. I felt good knowing I wasn’t just trying to befriend mechanical machines meant to bring you every which way you needed. I was a human being, and I didn’t need to talk to these hunks of metal and gas-guzzling beasts forever. They couldn’t transform, and even if they could, they weren’t flesh-and-blood. They couldn’t relate on a human level, and I couldn’t just sit there and talk to them. I had to find my own way. I had my own life, and these cars needed to go somewhere. They were just hunks of metal. I didn’t really care where they went. They could be turned into steel pipes and tire swings for all I knew. For all I cared.

Until maybe this car talked to me. But it was still a car. If I had come back to this country town one day, I would see it as my old neighbor’s daughter’s tire swing. Or her play toy in the sandbox or something she would jump through on her way to becoming a gymnast. I don’t know. And, I just didn’t really care. I’ve spent too long selling cars, and not snuggling with my husband. I felt like those days of being with him…I turned away. It hurt too much to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to deceive myself into thinking that I was married to the parking lot. Because I wasn’t. I didn’t put a ring on the ground, and then said I do. And waited for the ground to somehow respond. I said I do to a real man.

“Anyway…” I surveyed the car lot. It was all junk cars. Cars that could make me rich. Just looking at those hoods and taillights put dollar signs in my head. I blinked. I bit my lip. I scratched my semi-dirty semi-straight dirty-blond hair. Should I…?

“You know what?”

Over the next weeks, I did what I felt in my gut to do.

When I went outside to investigate the empty car lot, I was surprised about how many cars were gone! I threw up my hands, saying, “Woohoo!” Someone picked me up and whirled me around. I grinned big, but my husband admitted he had sold them.

“What?” I laughed, shocked.

“Yeah.” Now he chuckled. “You’re welcome!”

Flashing a huge check, he grinned slyly. “My work years have been cut in half!” Running back into the house, he said he was going to phone our parents to tell them the news. I stood there, skinny arms on either side of my lanky body. With my husband going on and on about the car sales and the money profited from them, I told the empty parking lot—

I covered my mouth with my hands, unable to keep the tears from pouring down my face. That car! It was so sweet and special. I felt like I had my own child ripped out of my hands. My husband was going into the garage all excited. I whipped around, and then that night, I sat there. Then I heard crunching. And the sound of a car coming down the road. I got up, not daring to believe it.

“Car?”

“Yeah, it’s me!” It laughed. “No way were they going to sell me off or turn me into a tire swing or anything. I was going to become someone’s toaster or something, but I escaped.”

I jumped up, squeezing my hands. “You came back.”

“Yeah!”

I opened its front door—or rather it opened that for me—and I climbed inside. Shaking my long blond hair behind me, I nodded. “Let’s go for a little ride!”

“Yes, ma’am!”