I know how she sees me.

She is ashamed.  She is frustrated.  She wishes me gone.

It wasn’t always like this.

I can still remember the first time we met.  It was a rainy fall evening, and she had zero intention of bringing anything home that night.  She was only there to “check things out”.

She even brought her dad knowing he would slow her spontaneity…and know better what she needs.

I know my color was a turnoff at first.  She wanted something less “average”, something that wouldn’t blend in with everyone else.

But after taking me out once, she was sold.

And then so was I.

She had never made such a big decision in such a short time…especially with her dad around.  He was the king of “let’s just think about this for awhile first.”

That was eight and a half years ago.

I took her places.

I was reliable.  I am reliable.

We celebrated so many joys.  Fist pumping together when she got her Masters, her job teaching college, each pregnancy.

I held her when she needed a private place to cry.

I know she thought about ending it with me when she was lost in depression.  I saw her eye those trees as we flew down the highway at 80 miles per hour.

I like to think I helped her keep going.

I’ve been with her through a lot.  I was with her every time she got pulled over…and only once did it result in a ticket.

I have felt her hand sweat with panic.

I have felt her body shake with grief.

I have heard her voice ring out with joy.

It felt like it would last forever.

But eight and a half years is a long time.

She is growing out of me.

I am showing signs of age that can’t be ignored. I am rusty and slowing down.  I can’t be trusted as much anymore.

She needs room to grow and spread out.

She needs something safe.

I have seen her through the part of her life that was about speed and getting things done.  Now she is moving on.  She is growing her family. She is settling down.  She has bigger and more stuff that goes where she goes.

I am not enough anymore.

I know my time is limited.  It’s just a matter of time and money before I am left for something bigger and newer.

Sliding out of reverse into drive.
This wheel will turn right, then straight.
Off in the sunset she’ll ride
She can remember a time, denied.
Stood by the side of the road
Spilled like wine now
She’s out on her own and line high.*

Write on Edge: RemembeRED

This week’s prompt was to personify an object that has “bore witness” to your life.
“Personification” is the act of giving human traits to something non-human.

*Lyrics from “MFC” by Pearl Jam

About Katie

Just a small town girl...wait no. That is a Journey song. Katie Sluiter is a small town girl, but she is far from living in a lonely world. She is a middle school English teacher, writer, mother, and wife. Life has thrown her a fair share of challenges, but her belief is that writing through them makes her stronger.


  1. Great Post!

    If you don’t already know it, check out Neil Young’s song: “Long May You Run”. I have similar feelings about my little honda, and this song never fails to bring a lump to my throat.

  2. super great post. had me in tears. love.

  3. I loved this! It’s amazing how badly I was feeling for the car – how simply writing as though an object does have feelings makes it come alive. Really good work!

  4. I will forever remember my very first car, that was laid to rest a few years ago. This was a great reminder. And I name my cars, so they are definitely personified by me:)

  5. George would propose to you if he could. He thinks every life experience should be sandwiched in between PJ lyrics. 🙂

    I didn’t even think to write about a car! Smart. If my car ever talked, I’d be in jail. 😉

  6. You did an amazing job with this, showing all of the things that the car has witnessed, your emotions flowing through the whole piece.

    It sounds as though you and your car have been through a lot.

  7. Perfect I felt so sad for the poor car! I don’t know why I thought you were talking like a wheelchair at first though LOL but of course it is a car. Love it

  8. “a private place to cry”
    Loved it. So true. The secrets our cars know…

  9. This is great! My car really has seen the best and worst of me over the years. Cars are special things that way.

  10. This is how I thought my Volkswagen must have felt when we traded it for the van. I cried like a baby on the way home from the dealership.

    There’s something about that last car before the minivan. The one that does hold you when you cry. Your car sounded like home, like a treasured friend. And the beginning, “I know how she sees me.
    She is ashamed. She is frustrated. She wishes me gone. It wasn’t always like this.”

    Beautiful stuff, especially since the car didn’t return the feelings of shame and frustration with like ones, but rather with powerful, specific memories of love, protection, and joy.

  11. DUDE!

    I love this. Mostly because I got lost in the words during the first read-through, and didn’t even know for sure what you were talking about. (Is that bad? I didn’t care. I just liked the flow of your language.)

    Then when I figured out it was your car, I went back for a second read.
    So good.

    It’s all there. A fully-fleshed out relationship.

    Except without the flesh.

  12. oh, the stories my first car could tell about me.

    Which is exactly why I didn’t write about her.