This is my darling Fang’s toothy grin. I sold him. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be, but I think the separation anxiety just hasn’t kicked in. I’ve had this fantasy since I was 15 years old and buying my first car. It was the first major thing I ever owned, and it felt like adulthood, like freedom. The fantasy was to just pack a bag, not say a word, and disappear into the night. Drive in one direction until I needed gas. I would stop in a small town on the side of the road and start a new life, because that is where fate and gas mileage had led me. Honestly I still have it. Every once in a while, I just want a new start. Living without a car in Seattle was rough sometimes, because I felt trapped, like I didn’t have that escape route. Selling Fang invoked some of those feelings. Although I never have just run away, I liked the option being there for me.
I sold Fang to a nice college student. He seemed like he would take good care of my baby. He handed me the money, I handed him the keys, and we walked to the car.
“Please still call him Fang. He won’t answer to any other name,” I told him. He laughed and agreed. I hope he wasn’t just humoring me.
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