Four years ago this week I took this picture:
In case you can't tell, it's the red Mustang formerly known as Molly eaten alive by a Minnesota winter. I had only lived in Minnesota a month and a half and I had to walk two blocks to a gas station to buy a retractable shovel. I failed to dig the knee-deep snow away from the tires and stayed home from work watching Gilmore Girls for the rest of the day.
A year later, I gave this shovel away to a neighbor man in exchange for him pushing Molly out of her icy parking spot.
Two years later, I met Shea. At Christmas time, I drove home alone from my grandparents only to have a six-hour trip take almost 12 hours due to Molly's inferior rear-wheel drive and Wisconsin's even more inferior roads. I gave up at 8 p.m., with tears and violently shaking hands and resolved to sleep in Eau Claire, Wisconsin because I had risked enough lifetime for one day.
My new boyfriend Shea, though, was already on the road coming toward me with a little dog in tow. I remember how my dad asked me to thank Shea, this boy he hadn't met, for saving me.
A few weeks later Molly was traded in for Burple the Mazda.
Four years later, Burple is sitting in a parking lot - away from the knee-deep snow and instead experiencing the thunder and lightning of a Kansas City spring.