This past weekend, I sold the Saturn. You may remember this car from a post I wrote last year pleading for just a few more miles of functionality. The car came through wonderfully, I’m happy to report, but seasons have changed, and even in this bizarrely mild winter we’re having, the car isn’t holding up so well. That, plus the registration and insurance fees and the always-high gas prices, and it became clear that I should say farewell to the car sooner than expected. But who knew it would be such a sad experience?

The M-22 sticker says you're a Michigan car forever, no matter what the license plate claims

The actual selling of the car was really easy. I went to the CarMax out in Glencoe, and after a short wait, a nice gentleman chatted with me about his tour of duty as a medic in Vietnam while an appraiser checked out the car. The company offered me $200 (oh how far you have fallen, Mme. Sunroof), I filled out the paperwork, and voila! They had my car, I had a bank draft, and my friends T&K picked me up to take me back to the city. No problem. But I was almost teary-eyed as I signed the paperwork. I don’t think my parents or siblings were untouched either, when I told them about it. This car has been in our family a long time.

It’s a ’96, and my dad bought it new in September of 1995 to use on his trips around the state selling phone systems for AT&T. After a few years, he got another car and the Saturn became the main vehicle the twins and I learned to drive in. We used it through high school, and after they graduated, my parents sold it to me and I took it from Kalamazoo to Naperville to Chicago. It’s sixteen years old and has seen a lot.

This car has been to Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey. It’s crossed the Canadian border. It’s been up north in Michigan and in the western suburbs in Illinois. It’s been through Indiana as quickly as possible (“Crossroads of America,” indeed). This car has been in two fender benders, at least two traffic stops, and no major accidents. It’s been through ice, wind, snow, fog, and a summer hailstorm. It’s been to beaches, farms, forests, cities, and the very edge of a swamp.

This car has been the site of acts of passion–raging fights, tearful make-up talks, and fevered make-out sessions. It’s blasted hip hop, rock n roll, Beethoven, and Beyonce. It’s seen feasts of candy, pop, fast food, homemade granola, and giant sandwiches. It’s been the designated driver. It’s been the speeding driver. This car has been the solution to problems, the means for movement, the impetus for plans. It’s been the starting point for road trip dreams and fantasies of escape, and finally, it’s always been the way home.

BFFs forever

Here are some things I found when cleaning out the Saturn:
48 cents in change
1 euro coin
11 maps
1 baggie of q-tips
2 safety pins
an entire winter wardrobe in the trunk (hat, sweatpants, jeans, two shirts, even undies–you need to be prepared in the Midwest for whatever the weather might throw at you)
3 quarts of motor oil
1 first aid kit circa 2003 (judging by the expiration dates)
2 flashlights
1 mostly-working umbrella
2 hair brushes
1 fossilized French fry
1 snow shovel
2 blankets
handwritten driving directions to my dorm room freshman year of college

Rest well, Mme. Sunroof. And in the words of Neil Young:

We’ve been through some things together
With trunks of memories still to come.
We found things to do in stormy weather
Long may you run.

Long may you run, long may you run,
Although these changes have come.
With your chrome heart shining in the sun,
Long may you run.