Dear First Car (Eugene),

You’re pretty cool. Sure, you’re a clunker. I bought you from an 85-year-old woman. You’re a 16-year-old red Ford Escort, you have masking tape on the right side view mirror, you don’t unlock automatically anymore and you go into theft mode every other minute for no reason whatsoever. But above all that, you’re mine. Before you, I drove my parents’ cars to school and around town, but their cars were never mine. You, on the other hand, are all for me, myself and I.

I’ve only had you for about eight-and-a-half-months now, but we already have so many memories. Between the countless trips to Wegman’s and Ithaca/Syracuse Mall (because what else is there to do in our lovely town?), our near-death experiences in the Ithaca winter, blasting music on road trips home, rugby practice shenanigans and drives just for the hell of it, there’s never a dull moment.

Being my first big purchase, I am incredibly protective of you (read: except for that one time with that one little fender bender...oops). I’ve come to appreciate and love all of your annoying imperfections. I’d rather drive you around than a brand new car for my first car--it gives me some (okay, maybe a lot of) room for improvement. Just kidding, I’ll be so sad on the day I have to say goodbye to you for good, Eugene. Sure, I may not roll up in the newest or the shiniest car, but you can bet I roll up with character. The pipsqueak beep you make after the car locks, your Cornell sticker that perfectly matches the red of your entire exterior, your ratchet window and your slightly worn out finish give you the personality that I love.

I don’t know if there’s any one person that’s seen me in pretty much any and every state possible, yet you have been lucky enough to see it all. From the full-fledged road rage at the person driving 25 mph below the speed limit to the pure panic at yet another one of your malfunctions parts, from the countless tears to the endless laughs, I am proud to call you mine.

Love,