requiem for my truck

I traded my big fat red truck for a shiny new Mazda. There. I've said it out loud. I am no longer a truck driver. Again. Primal AARRRGGGGHHHHH!

You may remember a time when I had a brief meltdown and bought a tan Mazda sedan. This Mazda is not like that at all. It is a pearly white five door hatchback. Almost a truck. It is small and oh so much better on gas. The sedan moment was a bit of an identity crisis, followed shortly and expensively by that shiny red truck that I love(d). At least it was paid for. The Mazda, on the other hand, is not.

So.

My brother Marc talked me into buying that truck shortly before he died. I don't think he could bear the thought of me being stuck forever in beige. Kind of like car purgatory. He loved to buy cars. I don't. I just told him to pick it out, get the paperwork together and I'd sign up. So that's pretty much what happened. When I showed up to get the truck, I was a little surprised that it was teenage-boy red, but when I started driving it, it fit me. I used to take Marc for drives near the end, him on methadone for pain, me not, playing old songs he loved like Wooden Ships and Somebody Robbed the Glendale Train. And we'd sing and sing like we used to do before everything went to shit.

Now he's gone. And the truck is gone.

So we bought the Mazda 3 together. I'm not sure why its a three. I don't get all that. But it has lots of airbags and safety stuff, and keyless entry, and electric windows. We needed a non-truck. We needed a commuter. It's mine, but we'll share vehicles now. His white truck, my white car. Much better. Its a new day in married land.