The Story of an Old College Car

A little over two years ago, an old white car sat in a rundown used dealership lot. It had an old battery, a broken jump seat, and the faint smell of cigarettes.

A broke college student saw the listing online and ran to the dealer for a test drive, even though the car didn't have 4WD like the CRVs she'd been looking at all week.

"It's got some flaws," she told the salesman—a short mustached gentleman in a 10 gallon hat who called himself the Cowboy. She tried not to give away how much she loved it already.

"I'll cut you a deal if you take her today," Cowboy insisted.

They shook hands on it.

The car got all cleaned up and taken back to the girl's apartment complex in Provo. From every window of the building spilled the noises of laughter, screaming, video calls, cooking, music, filming, movies, typing, vacuums, board games. The entire city hummed with the sleepless energy of college student insomnia, stress, and adventure.

The girl climbed into the car, drawing the door closed as the noise snapped quiet behind her.

She sat for a moment, closing her eyes and releasing a heavy sigh. Then she turned the key.

Together the girl and the car climbed up the side of a mountain, racing the setting of the sun; she rolled back the moon roof to catch the wind with her fingers as they went. Then the tailgate was dropped and a blanket was grabbed as the last few rays of the day slipped away into twilight.

Up above the clamor of the city, quiet settled down over them from the clouds rolling by.

The girl sighed again, but more peaceful this time. The heaviness was gone.

In the coming months, they would visit the sunset many more times. They would drive all over Utah and Idaho, following rivers and valleys, seeing red rock and evergreen pine.

The girl would meet a boy and give him rides to campus in the car. They'd stay up laughing and talking hours after curfew. They'd decide to get married. They'd ultimately drive to their wedding in that car, then to their first home.

The car carried them thousands more miles to internships, new semesters, and camping spots. It would eventually carry a new kitten, and then a new puppy.

It carried their possessions and trudged on until at last they rolled into a little blue house in Idaho, buzzing with the excitement of college graduation.

The old white car had served its purpose: it got the girl through college. It gave her a safe place when she didn't have one. It gave her an escape when she needed to run.

And then one day, with brand new parts and a fresh cleaning, the white car sat gleaming in the morning May sun as a younger Idahoan cowboy looked over her engine, her tires, her seats.

"It's got some issues," he told the girl, "but you've taken good care of it. It will run well for my wife."

The girl tried to smile as she signed the papers and gave him the key. They shook hands on it, and the old white car rolled on away down the street.

As he left, the cowboy rolled back the moon roof, and reached up to catch the wind with his fingers.