My white Ford Edge failed me today. I have a keypad on the door of my car, so I usually hide my keys in the glove box when I go somewhere. But today, my keypad decided to quit on me. I don’t know why, but the buttons weren’t responding. I just replaced the car battery so I knew that wasn’t the issue. I ended up calling roadside assistance. After being told it was only a twenty minute wait, the man showed up an hour later.

I watched him insert a long metal rod through the window, then he opened the passenger door within a minute. And at that moment, I was reunited with that lemon of a car.

The stumpy, white Ford I drive gives me a way to remember the different road trips, the rides to volleyball practice, getting dropped off and picked up from school, and all the random, mundane trips we took to run errands.

This car has a dent in the front right bumper. My grandma backed out of her driveway and hit the Edge with no mercy.

And those times when my mom and I took our dog, Raja, to the park, she would nervously pace in the back and ferociously bark at other dogs. The back windows still have markings from her snout.

There’s coffee stains on the two front seats. My family were always morning people, which meant coffee was part of the family too. When we left home before the sun rose, coffee left with us too and I never remember having a travel mug.

There’s a crack in the windshield from the charm hanging from the rear view mirror incessantly swinging and hitting the glass. My mom bought it when we moved down to Florida. It’s a silver cross, with pink crystal charms and a flowery design. On the cross is inscribed, Be Blessed.

The back seats still have water stains from when I threw back empty water bottles and they turned out to not be empty.

The pockets on the backs of the front seats still hold a copy of the lease from the duplex I’ve lived in for eight months now.

I have multiple jackets thrown in the back, just in case I get cold.

The trunk has an old set of jumper cables and a handful of crumpled plastic bags, for when I used to take Raja on walks.

The bumper has an FSU sticker, a support our troops yellow ribbon, and three flower magnets I bought in Ohio. There used to be a fourth blue flower, but an old boyfriend from high school took it one day.

I drove across the country in this car, twice. It has over 152,000 miles but runs like a stallion. I can pull out in front of a Mack truck and have no doubt it will get up and go.

I’ve spent a considerable amount of time of life traveling in this car. It’s failed a few times for me. Dead battery, flat tire, squeaky brakes. The sensors are broke and it constantly tells me the front doors aren’t shut. So, sometimes the doors won’t lock and the lights will stay on all night. Strangers have even knocked on my front door after midnight to tell me the lights are on, trust me people I know.

I don’t mind this lemon of a car. This car reminds me of my mom. This car reminds me of being a kid. I remember driving from Pensacola at four o’clock in the morning with my mom because I had to go to work in Tallahassee by eight. I remember driving sixteen hours to Arkansas to see my Grandpa in the hospital. I remember running red lights and speeding, then praying a cop didn’t see.

The squat, little Ford Edge used to be my mom’s car, but now it’s mine and for seven years, it served me well. Today the car locked me out and made me wait an hour in the hot sun for roadside assistance. In that time, I walked around the parking lot and remembered all the times I sat in that car. Always going somewhere, always on the move.

When you’re a nomad, it feels unnatural to stop and wait. But during that time, I wasn’t just waiting, I was remembering times when that car helped me out and gave me a ride. I hate driving at night and the lights stay on because the car thinks a door is open. I hate when the backup sensor beeps even when there’s nothing behind me.