I have a dear friend. She’s been a friend for a long, long time. When we were young, we’d tool around Atlanta in her green beater, dreaming of our futures. She’d been to France, spoke French and swore: “Char, one of these days, I’m gonna have a Deux Chevaux.” That’s what she’d say. Ev isn’t and wasn’t the sort of person to pin her ambitions to a car, so I think of that car as a metaphor of many things.
Consistent with the peculiar and unpredictable ins and outs of life, I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for her, so I owe her—a lot. She may not want that car anymore, but nevertheless, these are for her. These cars, these metaphors. They’re not all the make and model of her dreams, but they are “spiritually”—if a car can be spiritual and somehow I think some of them can be—in the same category. Every time I see one of these old beauties, I think of her. I’ve thrown in a road for her too, just for good measure. A metaphorical one, leading up into some beautiful metaphorical hills. I miss her.