Stella In Memoriam

Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends. We are gathered here today to remember the life of Stella, my faithful steed for 4 loyal years. Perhaps some day, through the miracle of science and my Dad's impending retirement, she may regain life and rejoin us. For now, let us celebrate her life as she passes on to greener pastures.

Stella was born in 1993, constructed by the crafty robots employed by the Honda corporation. She was of the short-lived breed of Del Sol's; sassy two-seaters with removeable tops. My Stella had a manual transmission. She was black with faded, white spots. She had a very spacious trunk that contained a six-disc CD player and a rack on which to place her roof whenever I wanted to feel the wind in my hair.

Her interior contained black velour bucket seats, which smelled of the previous owner's dog whenever it rained. The bucket seats had Del Sol embroidered in them at about shoulder level. There was the standard speedometer and tachometer and a little red oil light that flashed on and off if she didn't receive a quart of oil every three or four days. There was a nice-sized glove compartment and storage bins behind each seat. Stella had a console that doubled as a drink holder and general storage space. It was inconveniently located; I had to reach behind my back to get to my can of Diet Coke, a tricky maneuver while driving and using the stick shifter.

I loved Stella. She made me feel like a true hitchhiker of the galaxy; she made sure I knew where my towel was at all times. The driver's side window seal leaked and, if it rained, I'd soak my ass without that towel close to hand. I felt like I was travelling through space in a small, agile shuttle craft. It was a rickety space craft; Doc always complained about noises and rattles, whenever he travelled with me or drove Stella himself. He'd busy himself looking for the source of the noise. I'd show him how to fix it by turning up the stereo.

Ah, the stereo. A Kenwood. It played the radio and tapes. It was attached to the Kenwood CD player in the trunk, which held six CD's. I never really used the CD player much once I got my iPod. The speakers were nesteled behind the headrests and built into the doors. I was able to drive to the beat of my own drummer on my many mile commute. I was also able to enjoy many books on tape. All of the Harry Potter stories, Most of the Agatha Raisin Mysteries, to name a few.

I loved Stella the moment I drove her home. I've loved her every day since. She asked very little and gave me so much in return: The stories, the songs, the landscapes zipping by, the near misses, the noises, the smells, the dust, the dust bunnies, the unquenchable thirst for oil, the ridiculously great gas mileage (35 miles to the gallon), the inconspicuousness, the feeling of the wind in my hair, the music, the agility, the rattles and hums. She is the first car I've owned that died in my arms. She will always be special to me: she was paid for, she was cool, she made me look good, but not too good that someone would want to take her from me. I will miss her and I shall not soon forget her.