The story of an Eastern student’s car

Cars are a ubiquitous miracle of the modern age that we often take for granted. They make our lives so convenient that it is hard to imagine doing many day-to-day activities without the ability to quickly move from one place to another. There is a massive community of car enthusiasts, and it is easy to see why: they are truly wonderful and revolutionary machines. Like many of our possessions, cars often have stories connected to them, or quirks that give them their own identity. 

My car, which I have fondly named Bessie, is a 2005 GMC Yukon. It was previously owned by close family friends, who sold it to my parents, who eventually bequeathed it to me. It is the car I learned to drive in, and now it is with me at college. 

Bessie is a seven-person van (nine if you put someone in between the two middle seats and someone in the trunk… don’t worry, I have definitely never done this) with the turning radius, and gas mileage, of a small tank. When I inevitably drive all the way down to the end of an Eastern parking lot and can’t find a spot, I have to make an elegant 20-point U-turn to get out. As for actually turning into a parking spot, it is a coin flip as to whether I can fit between the lines on the first try, or have to pull out and try again… and again. And, in case you’re wondering, that is not a skill issue, despite what my friends may say. 

But Bessie’s oddities are not limited to its size. Pumping gas is a long process, as filling up the tank too quickly causes the gasoline to spurt back out of the car, often onto my clothes or shoes. It probably takes me around a minute per gallon. The back right window does not roll down. Occasionally, the AC will emit white gas that I hope is just a byproduct of it recently being recharged. There is no bluetooth, and the CD player is broken, so I use my own speaker placed in the center console to play music. During the summer, the constant flashing of the “Engine Coolant Hot,” warning necessitated me having a container of coolant in the car at all times. There are also other mysterious warnings that are constantly showing up; they probably aren’t a big deal though.

The many dings and scrapes to the paint job tell of a life well lived (and don’t represent anything about my driving). And, of course, there are the strange noises that accompany any old car. Squeaks, screeches, squeals and weird clicking–the sounds of a much loved vehicle. Bessie makes me think of an old cow: slow, lumbering, a little worn by time but still doggedly pushing on. But my car has its advantages. Its large size allows for me to drive most of my friends to and from places, and it has great suspension, which comes in handy when driving over speed bumps at 30 miles per hour.

My car has so many memories connected with it, from being driven to high school by my parents, to going to church, to late-night Wawa runs, to unofficial karaoke sessions with my friends. It has been the setting for joy, anger, laughter, crying, deep conversations and so much more. Many of my favorite moments from college have occurred while in the car. There is nothing quite like bonding with the person sitting shotgun while en route to run errands. I love Bessie, despite all its odd quirks. I personally have only owned it since the summer, but it already has sentimental value for me. It has been a companion from high school until now, and I hope it will continue to serve me well for years to come.