What seemed like a disaster has turned into a new and exciting chapter: John's Jeep died outside of Savannah on our way back from Ellijay a couple weeks back, and then yesterday, horror of horrors...my car started to stop working. We panicked. Well, I panicked. I bawled my eyes out after we finally got her home. What were we going to do? I sat on my tiny plastic white stool in our midnight blue kitchen, staring at a cobweb on the ceiling and the perspiration on the walls and I thought, "God, help us." Obviously losing both modes of transportation isn't the end of the world. People take public transit all the time to get around. But I was so sick of things going wrong, so sick of having to shell out all our saved money. Any time we scrounge together a few dollers, it goes right to a bill, an emergency, or groceries. I just wanted to get ahead. Not knowing what to do, I wiped the snot from my face and began washing dishes.
Unbeknownst to me, my husband was looking at Carmax, trying to find out if we could be financed for a car. He had come across a decently priced car, one that would have functioned like the Jeep (low gas mileage but a lot of space with 4 wheel drive). After making some calls, he found out we could get that financing. After doing a little bit more looking, he found Doreen. A Fiat 500 Pop (in other words, the most basic of the Fiat 500s) sat in the lot of the brand new Savannah Carmax. And we heard that we could get financing...with no money down. This was beneficial because...we are broke. Again. Living day to day. Again.
Anyway, fast forward to today. It wasn't until 9PM that John finally got behind the car of our new baby, and he loved it. The Fiats may be tiny cars, but they actually have more room inside (including trunk space) than a Mini. We fit inside comfortably. But, ladies and gents, this is not a car to be a passenger in. I'm not saying the ride is bad, because it is excellent, even in sports mode (yes, I said it, THERE IS A SPORT BUTTON!!!). It just feels so tame in the passenger seat. I enjoyed watching my husband's eyes light up in the darkness as we sped through town and out to Tybee Island. I was brushing my finger over the iPod, finding songs to test out our new sound system with. It has a Bose 10-speaker system with a sub-woofer. Did I mention it's a 2012? This is the newest car anyone in my family has ever owned. And then it was my turn. I wasn't expecting much--like I said, this is the base 500 model. Cheap, but still an Italian sports car. That's right: we own an Italian sports car. She's our little Ferrari.
Okay, so the ride is great. But this isn't the passenger sort of car. I touched the accelerator and she jumped forward, orange indicator on the dash telling me that I wasn't yet above 60, but I felt every twitch of the wheel, every slight motion of the tires. My hair whipped against my face, the windows down so we could smell the salt air. My eyes ignored the speedo and I stared only at the red lights in front of me so not to crash, not that stopping is an issue. A gentle kiss of the breaks is all she needs to come to a dead stop. John bellowed with laughter as I screamed, rounding a corner too fast. We came to a red light and I looked at my husband, my hair plastered to my face, and I realized I was grinning so hard my cheeks ached. Time and time again, I stomped the accelerator, just to feel the thrill of that 0-60 in 8 seconds. This is what's laughable: my Monte Carlo can do it faster. But I've never been able to FEEL that speed, FEEL the breaks, FEEL the acceleration, FEEL the road. I've always kind of hated driving. Sure, my Monte is fun to accelerate with, but that's it. Her handling sucks. She has the turning radius of a moon and her brakes are more like weak suggestions.
But Doreen. Doreen is a different animal. She is Italian. She was made to handle. And I love her. For once, I don't want to be the passenger. As the ocean breeze knotted my bangs together, I felt my nerve endings fire like never before. Speed. As minimal as it was (I was afraid to go too fast, the cops around Savannah and Tybee have been hitting everyone pretty hard), it was there, and I felt every MPH. When the turn came for me to go home, I hesitated. My fingers clutched at the wheel, and I almost didn't push the blinker into place. The road curved before me. Go, it whispered. Just go. Forget about school, about payments, about your home, about not making friends, about money. Go.
And then I hit the blinker.
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