In the aftermath of my separation from Simon. Life became quite chaotic. I moved into a small flat near to my work, became an exhausted single mother and called in favours from all my friends to help me juggle work and motherhood. Simon treated his depression with an energetic burst of internet dating which made him essentially unavailable for parental duties. Officially too sick, I suspected he was actually too busy trying to get better by finding someone new to love. Anyway, with the separation, I lost my wheels, and it took me some months to get a new set. Months of trudging back from the supermarket on the bus with bags and bags of shopping strung over my wrists, to add to my already all encompassing exhaustion.
Imagine the joy when my parents came to visit and with their hire car, I was able to visit car yards and find the car of my very modest dreams. It cost less than $2000, was over ten years old and had a perplexing rattle. But it was (or had been in its day) red, sporty and full of personality.
This was my freedom car. A clapped out little Honda Civic to get me to and from the shops. Or to the beach at the weekend. All mine, my choice, my money. I was in heaven.
Since meeting my new partner, the car got a bit of a thrashing, being used for commuting more than I had ever planned, and it finally died this year, but man did I love that car and all it represented.
1 comment:
I still have (and drive) the first car I ever bought -- and oh, how I still love it. Amazing what freedom cars represent.
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