My 1987 Honda Civic
by Beth Cameron
It was the first new car I ever owned. It had thrilled my mother with a digital clock on the dashboard. It had carried her ashes to the cemetary, and now it was transporting this small, handsome Scottish Terrier away from the family that had loved him, away from the kitten he shared his enclosed, confined kitchen space with, while the family split, divorced and were moving on without him. How confidently he walked beside me to my white Honda Civic as I opened the passenger door and helped him up onto the front seat. I had spent the last two hours being interviewed by the crying mother and teenaged daughter and now he was going home with me. He sat still until I got into the driver's seat and started down the driveway of the country home he wouldn't see again and as I looked over at him, he was standing up looking backward out the rear window between my bucket seat and his and as we turned onto the main road he sat down and rested his head on his paws listening to the classical music on the car radio.
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1 comment:
Another moving piece. I'm wondering about Terrier and how you found him, what you knew about this family, what you noticed about their loss and your gain.
This piece seems to be about loss--with the attention in the opening about your mother's ashes.
But there's also new life and hope--I think of one door opening after another closes.
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