'98 Accord

I drive a white '98 Honda Accord.

This is the same car 

that brought me home from the hospital

the day after I was born.

This is the same car

that brought me back to the hospital

when I broke my arm for the first time.

This is the same car

that I was taught to drive in.

This is the car

that my sister will learn to drive.

I drive a white '98 Honda Accord.

The paint is scratched just above the right taillight

from where I ran into a mailbox

while first learning how to drive in reverse. 

The back seat has a deep scratch

from where my sister's booster seat used to sit.

There is an orange stain

from where I spilled my juice box,

and the roof over the passengers seat

is slightly darkened from where 

my grandfather would puff on a cigar while riding.

The right door no longer opens

after years of being ignored by my sister and I,

who believed that we both had to enter the car from the left.

I drive a white '98 Honda Accord.

This car has been running for 17 long years.

This car has traveled across the country

on family vacations and business trips. 

My family has relied on this car for years.

She has preformed well past her time

and even the time following.

Yet, still, she refuses to give up.

She is as resilient as ever,

just perhaps more tired.

Yet, still, she refuses to rest her eyes,

fearing that she may not ever wake up.

Though others may drive new, fancy, shiny cars,

I drive a white '98 Honda Accord

and I know that it is the best car that I will ever own.

I have a car with personality

and sentimental value that comes with

years upon years of memories

and books upon books of stories to tell. 

If only those wheels could talk.