Dear Yolanda,

From crashing into sheds to surviving fender benders— we’ve been through a lot together. When my grandparents passed you on to me, as one of the most generous gifts I have ever received, that’s all you were to me— a generous gift. You were simply a nameless car designed to aid me as I learned to drive, and transport me around town. Along the way, you became Yolanda, Yo-Yo for short, my only friend who literally couldn’t leave me.

You gave me my first taste of independence and enabled me in being late to school every single day of senior year. You were there when I needed to catch that extra half hour of sleep before school started, or frantically study with my knees shoved up under the steering wheel, laptop balanced precariously in my lap. You were there for late night sibling ice cream runs to Sonic, and jam sessions to music of questionable taste.

You got me to crew practice every day after school, except for Wednesdays, and on Saturday mornings for two years. You got me to friends’ houses, the Haile Plantation for docenting, and perhaps most importantly Publix. You graciously offered up your trunk as my travelling suitcase, filled with odds and ends, jackets and scarves, boxes of protein bars and half-consumed water bottles.

Saying goodbye is never easy, and I can only hope that whoever has the great honour of owning you next knows just how lucky they are. You will always be my Yo-Yo.

Love Always,