I once knew this girl. I met her at a math/science summer camp just before my freshman year in college (I know, I'm way nerdy).
There were 21 girls in that camp. (Also known as ACCESS.) Near the beginning of the summer, we all sat in a circle and played a getting to know you game. We were all supposed to name our dream car and why.
I only remember two things about that day. I remember what I said, and I remember what one other girl said.
I said my dream car was a Saturn. This had nothing to do with the car itself, and everything to do with the name. I wanted to be an Astrophysicist, after all. But mostly, I just didn't know anything about cars beyond the world of Pontiac and Oldsmobile that my parents supported.
Then there was the other girl. She was into meteorology. She was goth. And she said her dream car was a Hearse. You know. A Hearse. I forget if she said why. But we all sort of looked at her closely in that moment, wondering if she had some internal conflict or teen rebel moment going on. No one made any comments.
Then this morning (8 years later) I saw this article on sfgate.com. Apparently, lots of people own Hearses. You could probably live in one. Or die in one.
My favorite line is at the end of the article, when the author says this: "When the time comes, it's going to take me for that last ride."
3 comments:
I understand the love of a long car. I really miss my Pontiac Sihouette. It had enough room to lay down in the back or haul trees. My dad loved Pontiac/ Oldsmobile and had a PINK Bonneville station wagon in the early 1960's. I always felt so cool in that car when we took it to drive-in movies. Of course, my mother's 1964 powder blue T-Bird was the height of cool, and I got to drive that one!
I don't remember this. Who wanted the Hearse?
Her name was Christine. Or Christina? She had short black hair. I don't remember her last name. I know she became a meteorology major.
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