Back in January, my little brother totaled my car. My car? A 1990 silver Dodge Dynasty named Frank. Last week he got a new car, a 1992 Dodge Spirit named Grant.
(we name our cars.)
I'm happy that he got another car. We needed one to drive. But I wish it wasn't so close to Frank. Every time I sit in it, or see it, it's like he's rubbing it in my face that he destroyed my one true love. That car was my one true love. It stuck with me through everything, all of my benders and bad decisions, the things I didn't want to do and those moments of perfect freedom driving with the radio turned off down empty country roads.
I'm still not over that car, or what my little brother did to it. And I get really sad thinking about it. Frank saved him. MY car saved HIS life.
He won't even let me drive his.
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1 comment:
where's that update?
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