The Big Red Car

Mom called me the other day and told me that she had finally sold her car, a 2001 Mercedes E430.

“Too expensive to maintain,” she’d been complaining recently. “It only drinks premium gas.”

I didn't blame her. Gas prices were hovering around $4.00 per gallon, and that was just for regular gas.

“Well, how much did you get for it?

“$8000.”

I could feel my heart break a little. Not just because $8000 seemed like a rip off for a luxury car that, besides a few small mechanical problems, was otherwise still in what seemed like great condition, but because $8000 could not even begin to capture all the wonderful memories contained in that car.

We got the car at a car auction when I was in high school. The day before the auction, my parents and I drove about 2 hours to the other side of town, where we spent the day wandering around a huge lot filled with cars of all shapes, sizes, and colors. There was a pretty steel gray BMW that seemed to be in perfect condition except for the fact that the trunk wouldn't close all the way, a deep emerald green Infiniti with black leather seats, a silver Audi station wagon. We wrote down all the ones we liked, and the next day, my parents went back to the car auction to bid on our top choices. But as luck would have it, they hit traffic on the way there, and by the time they arrived, all our top picks were gone.  Instead, they returned with the Mercedes.

Needless to say, I was both shocked and delighted when I saw the vivid, deep red car parked majestically in front of our home, the famous Mercedes logo sparkling in the afternoon sun. My parents worked very hard, and although they didn't have trouble making ends meet, they had always taught me to live frugally and buy only what I really needed. I couldn't believe that they had decided to splurge for once, but at the same time, I felt that they truly deserved it.

“I drove the Mercedes home!” Mom exclaimed proudly, quite an accomplishment for her since she rarely drove such long distances, not to mention in an unfamiliar car. From that day on, Mom was the one who drove the Mercedes, while Dad took our old Honda Accord. Because the Mercedes, which we nicknamed the “Big Red Car”, required premium gas, it made sense to give it to Mom, who had the shorter commute. Dad was a great sport about it; if he was jealous at all, he didn't show it one bit.

On weekdays, Mom would pick me up from school. When the bell rang at exactly 2:51 pm, I would make a beeline out of the stuffy English classroom and scurry across campus, past the library, the music room, the foreign language classrooms, to where Mom was waiting for me in the Big Red Car. After a day of multiple choice tests, surprise in-class essays, and catty fights during gym class, I would feel a surge of relief as I climbed into the passenger seat, breathing in the familiar smell of the tan leather seats. I was quiet and kept to myself during class, and by the time school ended, I was bursting with stories about the triumphs and disappointments of the day. As I chatted away, Mom would drive us around to run errands before heading home. First, it was to the recycling center, where we’d drop off the plastic bottles we had accumulated over the past few weeks in exchange for a few ice cream dollars. Then, it was to Safeway to buy some fresh ingredients for dinner and a sandwich for lunch the next day. Sometimes, we’d stop by the local park for a bit of exercise after a stressful day.

The eye-catching red meant that we almost never had trouble finding it in a parking lot, unlike our black Honda Accord, for which there were way too many clones and look-a-likes. Once, while Mom and I were shopping, we had quite a scare. As we were leaving the store, we scanned the parking lot and immediately spotted the Big Red Car. But as we approached it, something did not seem right. There was a huge scratch across the rear side of the car. The trunk had a layer of brown film over it with what looked like fingerprints.

“Oh no, someone damaged the car!” I cried, panicking. But then the unfamiliar combination of letters and numbers on the license plate caught my eye. “Wait a minute…”

Turns out we had the wrong car. Apparently, a clone of the Big Red Car did exist, even in our small town! Embarrassed, we quickly backed away before anyone thought that we had done the damage.

The first time I ever drove a car, it was the Big Red Car. I had just gotten my driver’s permit and couldn't wait to get on the road. Dad had taken the Honda out of town, leaving Mom and I with our bright red friend.  As I stared at it parked out in the driveway, it seemed to beckon me to take it out for a spin. On the other hand, the thought of having my first driving lesson in a Mercedes seemed extravagant and a bit terrifying. Mom, who was often a nervous driver herself, was surprisingly encouraging and took me across the street to practice in an empty parking lot. I climbed into the driver seat, and she took the passenger side. Patiently, she showed me where the brake and accelerator were and how to adjust the seat by pushing a few cool buttons on the door shaped like the different parts of the seat.

“Just remember, keep your foot on the brake. If I say ‘stop’, then STOP!”

She showed me how to release the parking brake and switch the gear to drive mode. I cautiously released my foot from the brake, and the car began to inch forward. We were moving! I turned the steering wheel to the right slightly. The car obediently turned just the right amount, contrary to what I had experienced in arcade racing games, where the slightest turn made you crash into the wall. I turned the other way, and the car followed. Soon, I was able to make laps around the parking lot. I felt on top of the world, sitting in the driver seat of the Big Red Car.

The Big Red Car weaved its way into my high school days and became an integral part of my life. Much more than just a transportation vehicle, it was where Mom and I bonded over life’s little adventures, some more exciting than others, but all equally memorable. That is what makes this car priceless.