To Starla the Car-la!

It’s the end of an era. Today I said goodbye to my 1998 Lexus, Starla the Car-la. Starla was more than a car. She was more than cream colored leather seats marred by rubbed off denim. She was more than the perplexing thumping hum that serenaded you while you drove that left mechanics shrugging. She was my first taste of independence.

Starla was a gift from my Great Aunt Molly who in her old age decided she should no longer drive to temple. Choosing instead to worship G-d by throwing tiles playing rowdy games of Jewish mahjongg. Great Aunt Molly bequeathed me a center console full of klezmer cassette tapes and hard candy so to make her my own I hung a silver disco ball from the rear view mirror.

Finally I could go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted — especially after I learned how to drive. It took a few years before I was comfortable driving on the highway and I still get nervous driving in the snow and lord knows to this day I can’t parallel park, but Starla gave me wheels, helped me build my confidence, and empowered me to go places on my own. To take long drives with the sun roof open blasting terrible Dave Matthews Band lyrics, to order M&M McFlurries from the drive through instead of having to convince a friend with a car that McFlurries are excellent treats even in bone chilling Pittsburgh winters, and to try and wedge her into too tight parking spots in the South Side so I could go dancing all night and worry about the scuffs later. We sure did have some good times.

Starla the Car-la was a champagne colored class act who purred like a kitten. She was a reliable chariot even when the check engine light blinked (our mechanic assured us it was just broken). And she was royally scratched the fuck up after so many years of, “I thought I could fit”.

But she was mine.

And I will miss her.