27/365 - January 27, 2012

When I cleaned out my Corolla, I found a pair of Lady Gaga Mickey Mouse sunglasses from two Halloweens ago, a box of brass fasteners for the dozens of scripts I had to copy and bring to class, a cigar from a smoke shop in Florence that I planned on giving to my cousin as a “man” gift, but then decided I didn’t want to give it to him anymore, and a comically large plastic shovel from a “free stuff” bucket at my internship.

After I took my last sweep of the car, I asked my dad what would happen to it. He said that someone’s teenage son would inherit it. I thought of all the scraps of trash I left behind: receipts, wrappers, movie stubs. I wondered if he’d give it a second thought, if he’d ask about me the way I asked my dad about the woman who drove the car I got. Would he try to take off the crudely taped NMUSD parking permit? Would he convince himself that if he pushed hard enough, the windows would roll down? (I’ve tried. It doesn’t do anything other than irritate your pushing finger.) And what about this luxury compact SUV? I peeked through the tinted windows at the leather seats before opening the door and climbing in. My dad turned on the car, and said, “Look.” He rolled down the automatic windows, and we both laughed. We admired the features that, twelve years ago, were a big deal: a tape player AND multi-CD player, a sun roof, and a dashboard with wood detail.

After a pleasant visit to AAA and $93, the car title is officially in my name. Adulthood~~