A True Story, From My Own Life

She wasn't the prettiest, or the cheapest, or the easiest girl in our school, but she had a style, a swagger that was undeniable.  From red leather trappings that only an experienced user could stroke  without it gripping his hand too much, to the way she sauntered onto a scene, shoot, from the way she traveled all the time, no one could help but notice that she was someone special, someone a guy could be proud to be with, to roll with.  And best of all, she was mine. 

I'll admit that she was tough to deal with in the beginning.  Our first meeting wasn't one of love at first sight.  I'm ashamed to say that my first aversion was that she was bigger than most girls I'd liked.  She wasn't too big, mind you, but big enough that I knew everyone would know we were together, or maybe it wasn't her size, but rather her particular look that I knew couldn't be ignored by any onlooker (no matter how much they abhorred gossip).  But to be honest, it was that style that made me fall in love with her in the first place.

I first saw her when she came over to my parents' house, well, my house at the time, as I was still in high school.  My dad's friend knew her and both of them thought we might hit it off.  The first thing we did, after the preliminary talking, and getting to know each other, was go for a drive.  I'd never been with a girl like her.  She was a loud, powerful woman that, at first, made you want to drive slowly, out of respect, or maybe out of fear that she'd be angry at you for recklessness.  But, after knowing her for a while, you got the feeling that her personality, her desires would have nothing more than fast driving and changing lanes.  Sometimes I thought it was to impress her, but other times I saw it as stress relief for myself, and she was one of the few girls that could handle that kind of speed, and I wasn't about to let that quality slip by, not while I was in high school anyway.

We went everywhere together.  My first fears, that others would know we were together, quickly left.  I wanted them to know.  I pined for every guy in our school, every guy in Utah to know that she was mine, and I'd say, more importantly, that I was hers.  We were together clear until I left for my Mission.  I knew I'd miss my family and friends, but secretly, I knew I'd miss her too.  None went with me like she did.  No one had that style, that swagger that I'd always desire.  While I was gone she went with someone else, someone who didn't take care of her like I would have.  Someone who didn't appreciate her.  You know who you are.  I know you read my blog. 

When I came home, she came back to me, and it was just like old times.  We drove everywhere together, and when she wasn't with me, I yearned for her to envelope me with her safety.  We lived in Arizona for a while together, came back to Utah, and eventually moved in with one of my friends.  It wasn't too long after we lived there that she got sick.  To be fair, I hadn't been as good to her as I should have.  Maybe rode her a little hard.  But nothing I did, or didn't do could have stopped what happened.  The specialist tried to explain to me what she had, but to no avail.  I just didn't understand, but he did tell me she didn't have long.  I'll admit that her and I cried a little as we drove back home, knowing that we wouldn't be together much longer.

The day came that her and I had to part ways.  I remember looking her over again.  She wasn't as young as when we'd started dating, but her beauty hadn't diminished.  Her style was still the same, red leather and more swagger than anyone could truly handle.  My hand caressed her hood, my eyes stared into her headlights.  My fingers, for the last time, touched that leather interior.  There were times I wanted to paint her gray exterior white, looking back, I'm glad I never did.  She was perfect the way she was.  She was MY gray Cadillac DeVille, with red leather interior, a V8, and a cd changer in the trunk.  May she rest in peace.