I have a car.

His name is Henry.

Do you name your car? My sister and I have always named our cars.

Henry (or Henri when I am feeling French) is a 1992 Honda Civic wagon (Henry and I prefer the term hatchback to station wagon), a lovely maroon in color.

This is how I roll.

He is a trooper. Honda’s are the BEST. My family has spent significantly less money on repairs and maintenance for Henry than on any other of the way newer cars we own.

A year and a half ago, I drove Henry from Tennessee back home to Colorado (20 hour drive). It was August. There was no A/C. The driver’s side window doesn’t roll down. He was having a little trouble with the transmission gear shift and would get stuck in park or reverse so I couldn’t reverse and the second day I have to drive 12 hours straight with only two stops, praying that he would move back into ‘drive’ after getting gas and running in to pee.

The sun was beating down on us across the Kansas prairie. I didn’t want to drink water because I didn’t want to stop and pee. But there was no A/C and the window wouldn’t roll down, so I was hot and very thirsty. It was a vicious cycle.

By the time I got home, my body was so stiff I could hardly get out of the car.

But we made it. It was my first solo road trip and it was awesome.

I feel like Henry is a real person. I talk to him.

He needs some cheerleading these days. You see, Henry is getting quite old. His old bones don’t do well in the cold. You have to coax him to start. And he keeps dying at the stoplight at the top of the hill coming home from my pool. That’s really fun.

So, Henry, keep going buddy, you can do it. My dog already died this year, I can’t have you die too!


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