Mom's Little Red Sports Car.

*note*

its kinda all over the place, just trying to voice some jumbled thoughts here. might revise later, otherwise regard as a rough draft.









My mum bought her little car right after she divorced her husband. It was a red little 2 seater’ car. The day she picked it up I was so confused that she would go from a roomier Chrysler Neon to this little car. I was 11 when I got into her new car for the first time. “why’d you buy a car with no backseats mom?” I asked her. She replied lovingly “because from now on its just you and me, we don’t need any extra seats for anyone else!” my heart felt warm inside, and I thought to myself that maybe things would be different this time. 



When I was born my grand mother looked after me while my mumma looked for a suitable husband, which she found a few years later and married him as soon as she could. 7 years later she finally got rid of her abusive lazy alcoholic husband and all his debt. Finally now after saving for a while, we were buying a small little house on the other side of town--just her and me just like she always said. Maybe things would be different this time.



She washed and waxed her car once a week. She kept the interior spotless. The dash always shinned in the sunlight, her car never had a scratch on it, no one leaned on it, and only the best mechanics ever looked at it. She called it “Beth” and drove it to car shows across the province. Everyone fused over her car like a new born baby. “what is that?” “oh its so cute!” “I want one!” “its so adorable!”



When I was 13, I began to show interest in her new found love affair with her little red sports car. I would ask to help her, and she would never let me even touch the car. She always told me I’d do it wrong, or not good enough, or that I would scratch the car. I had always been an only child, and I began to see her little red sports car as her new found love. She took long drives with “Beth” and put a lot of effort into maintaining her engine.



Towards the end of that year she began to get sick. She developed a terrible lung disease that meant she had to have an oxygen mask on her all the time. And I thought, maybe now that she was sick she would let me help her with her car. All I wanted was to show her that I was good enough too.



Months passed, and mum got sicker and sicker. She spent most of her days laying down, she had many surgeries, and her car was beginning to be neglected. She moved the car to my grandmothers garage where it sat, while mom slowly deteriorated.



Mom died when “Beth” was 7 years old. She still looked and ran decent. Her body still shinned the way mom liked it. And inside Beth smelled just like my moms perfume. I got my drivers licence shortly after mom died, and started driving her little red sports car.



Beth and I went everywhere together, she was the real piece of my mom, the piece of my mom only my mom touched and new, and now I was a part of this. When I was sad I would just drive, and somehow I would feel better. Every time I cleaned it, and took it to car shows I felt like I was making my mom proud.



After 3 beautiful years driving Beth, things started to change. She just wasn’t as fast as what she used to be. She ran just a little hotter then usual and she grew to become unreliable.



Every time Beth broke down, I would feel like mom was punishing me for ruining her car. Everyone around me would say to me “just junk it,” “scrap the piece of shit,” “sell it!” and my heart would just sink. I knew this day would come for moms/my little red sports car. It breaks down a lot now, and each time it does its as though mom is angry at me. I never was able to get her approval in life, how am I supposed to get it in death?