Epic Ode to My 1995 Volkswagen Jetta, Standard Engine

I had this awful piece of crap car that I finally got rid of, but it was so epic I decided it warranted a poem. This is it :-)

You stalled fifteen times within the city limits of Fredericksburg

a week after my hands learned your mechanical secrets.

I was so fed up I left you

in a Sheetz parking lot

and left with a Nissan.

The Nissan had a boy.

Still, you patiently waited while I said my goodbye

that lasted two hours

and you didn’t even complain when I made a wrong turn

I was slightly distracted, wasn’t I Roxie?

and found a new way to I-66.

We spent lots of time on I-66.

Every work day it picked us up at the Dulles Toll Road

and deposited us onto the Teddy Roosevelt Bridge

over the Potomac River,

the Washington Monument on our right

and the Kennedy Center and Watergate on our left,

and wished us good luck on our big-city journey.

Big city driving makes me nervous.

One night I missed my exit

and discovered just how dark and lonely I-66 can be.

I was afraid

but you didn’t run out of gas.

Still, you were so impatient to get to the Eastern Shore—

Salisbury, MD—

that you attracted the attention of shiny lights.

I wasn’t very happy with you.

You didn’t want to leave Salisbury.

We stayed three extra days.

My bank account wasn’t very happy with you.

Roanoke begged me back

and you told me you missed the Blue Ridge Mountains

so down I-81 we went together,

my life stuffed into your ridiculously large trunk

I swear I could’ve hid three bodies in.

Once we went to the movies—

Little Miss Sunshine, ironically—

and we sufficiently embarrassed ourselves

on the way back.

N*Sync’s Space Cowboys never sounded so good.

Interstate 64 East was your favorite freeway.

You insisted we spend lots of time there.

You had a curious infatuation with a Nissan

blue

and perhaps a little out of your league.

I didn’t complain.

You liked Charlottesville.

We went there three times in five months.

You really liked Newport News.

I think you harbored visions of being a beach bum.

You said that the view of the ocean from the parking lot must be good.

I’m sad to say we never made it there

and you missed out on the best part.

 

Our biggest adventure:

three days, four states, and five on the way back.

We found out that Tennessee is the longest state in the Union,

passed Hope, AK, the birthplace of President Clinton,

and poked around Louisville, KY.

We even crossed the Mississippi.

But we stopped in Dallas, TX for a month

and drove in awe under the overpasses with stars.

You dressed up as an ice queen one morning

and modeled your sparkly new glaze

while I stood at a complete loss.

Would a blow dryer work to de-ice the locks?

Where would I plug it in?

But we were never meant to be plutonic life partners.

You broke your heart too many times for my taste.

So I filled out a matchmaking profile of sorts

and tried to market your good features.

New parts, I said.

Sunroof, I said.

That was all I could think of.

After all, you had one balding tire.

Floating chunks in the coolant.

No volume knob.

A passenger side speaker that took frequent naps.

A rattling backseat.

A rusting exhaust pipe.

You never had windshield washer fluid

or automatic locks

or windows

and I only made the cruise control work once.

Worst of all, you’d swallow my cassette adapter

and force me to listen to DJs

instead of allowing me musical freedom.

Okay, maybe Kelly Clarkson is a guilty pleasure.

In fact, I hated you.

I cursed you.

I talked about you behind your back.

I didn’t want you.

Turns out no one else wanted you either.

So we took one last shameful drive up from Roanoke,

North on I-81.

Passed Natural Bridge where we’d stopped to look for rocks

and Lurray Caverns where we’d found them.

Passed Lexington where I’d stopped for coffee

the day I thought it was a good idea to drive

across the state of Virginia

at five in the morning

on I don’t want to know how little sleep.

That Nissan was quite a tempting little bugger, wasn’t he?

We crossed the James River

and the Shenandoah River twice.

We passed New Market, my first Civil War battlefield.

But that’s not one of your stories.

That was with a rental car

with a North Carolina license plate.

You didn’t make the parting easy.

In fact, you schemed with the weather

and the rainstorm turned to snow

and your windows freaked out

and fogged up

at seventy miles an hour

and you swallowed the cassette adapter

and I sobbed.

Did I mention I’d never driven in snow before?

But you calmed down.

I think you accepted why we couldn’t be together.

So you slipped and slid your way to Great Falls, VA

and let me leave you pulled off to the side of Yorktown Road

while I went off to the sun of California.

Honestly, it’s better this way.

I wish you luck, Roxie.

I wish you someone sympathetic

with a big pocketbook

and lots of patience.

That’s not me.

And if it makes you feel better

you grew on me a little.

I know I grew a lot.