Anchor's Away...

Sitting here on my couch, looking out the same door I’ve now looked out almost every night since I moved to the beach over five months ago, something is missing.

I know what it is. And I shouldn’t be sad. But obviously, I am.

A little part of my past disappeared today. In a very good way. It’s me, however, so I’m a bit melancholy.

I sold the Red Shark. To a Marine. With a wife and kid. He called me early in the week. Luckily, I was able to get to my voicemail on the phone that I broke in a drunken haze last Thursday. The night, I most like lost a friend. I don’t know if I could call her a good friend. We had a lot in common. In too many ways, I figure.

Superficial things ended up mattering, I guess.

That car drove me through the end of the best time of my life. It steered me through the complete worst part of my life. And then died during the dullest part of it. Fitting? Maybe not, but that really doesn’t fucking matter.

For $300 that car is no longer there. It’s not killing the grass out front of my house. It’s not a potential accident for every drunken cougar that pours out of that shitty dance club across the street. Of course, the amusement factor of watching drunks in their $90,000 cars doing everything they could to not slam into my $300 car every night will be missed. The mailbox is still there, though, and it’s a whole hell of a lot harder to see in a drunken Ira Hayes haze.

Back to the non-finned shark. Mike D. named her that way back in the SJ days. Sitting out in the parking lot, wishing we were all somewhere else, or having a different boss, and possibly seeing the right person finally getting shit-canned. It’s funny how you look back at times where you were miserable then, and love every second of it. Miss it even.

That car came to symbolize a lot of shit. A lot of pain. More than I’d ever like to face again. But, most likely, will have to.

And now it’s gone.

Good riddance, I say.

My ex gave me that car. I flew down to Florida for the last time that I would. For Thanksgiving. My Celica, whose name was Carla, was wobbling on the last legs of a bad transmission replacement. Heck, the shitty replacement lasted over 99K, so it must not have been that bad. But anyway.

The arrangement was to take the Shark. Not called the Shark then, instead, it was Uncle Larry’s car. He bought it for $24,999 in cash. The receipt still in the car as the Marine drove it away while I was at work this afternoon.

Heck, the transmission slipped a little then.

It seemed like a great thing. “I’ll be able to visit more often, now that I have a decent car. And so do you!” was what I said.

She said “love isn’t enough.”

Ha. I scoffed at such talk. “Of course it is, you just have to believe it.”

Of course, now I know, she was right. Well, we both are, I think.

Love isn’t enough.

Unless you believe in it. Unless you give yourself up to it. No matter what it ends up doing to you.

Some people never get their heart broken. They meet a guy/gal, fall in love, get married and never look back. Never get their heart ripped out. Or stabbed by a rusty screwdriver.

Me, I’ve been down the road. And I don’t regret it. I still cry too much over it. It’s been over 5 years now. Almost as long as the relationship itself.

There are good days. There are horrible days. At first, the horrible days outnumbered the good days 10 to 1.

Now? The good days and bad days are about even. But it’s not because of her anymore. It’s because of me.

But that car is gone. The last real reminder of her. Yeah, there are other little things, but not ones that literally weigh a ton. Heck, half of that damn car wasn’t even around when she was. New muffler. New tires. New windshield. New wipers. New radiator. New alternator. New timing belt. Although that stain of bar-b-que sauce was still there. All these years later. Threw a book on top of a McDonald’s pack one day. Then it sat under it for over a week before I sat in the passenger seat and noticed it.

I wonder if she ever did? If not, it’s just a memory. Not a shared one. Not like they matter. To her, anyway.

An anchor it was. And now she’s gone.

And I still never had sex in it. Despite promises.

But we all know about promises made vs. promises kept.