Week #35: Creative Writing Challenge – Dreaming of No-Name Cars

Write something inspired by a recent dream you had.

There are some people who love their cars. I mean love them. Enough to give them names, take them for weekly washings, and literally shed tears when they get scratched.

I am not one of those people.

I loathe my car and if I didn’t need it to get to work and the grocery store, I would leave it on a corner and say good riddance. In fact, sometimes I do leave it in the hopes it’ll get taken and I can claim the insurance money on my stolen car. Five days is the longest I’ve gone before returning to it’s unlocked doors and rolled down windows, and I swear it’s just saying “You’ll never be rid of me” and following it up with a maniacal laugh.

My friends have asked me why I hate my car. It doesn’t remind me of anything particularly horrible and it drives decently and it’s safe, but I never tell them why. The fact is, they’ll probably think I’m crazy.

It all started one day when I returned from Italy and my luggage got lost on the way back from my three-week vacation. It’d been my first vacation in five years and it was perfect up until then. I drove my car back to the airport the day after I returned to pick up my suitcase, and instead of parking in the garage like a sane person, I just left the car at the curb outside the baggage claim. I thought it would be a quick transaction, and it was, but when I returned, my car was gone.

I panicked, thinking maybe I’d forgotten to lock the doors or it had actually taken longer than I thought and I’d been towed. My thoughts were all a variety on a theme, that it was my fault my car was gone. I spotted an officer and told him my story. I’d need a police report if I was going to file a claim with my insurance company. The officer helped me look for my car, thinking I had misplaced it like a pair of glasses, before they would admit to its disappearance.

I was sitting directly inside the automatic doors to the baggage claim watching the cars go by and waiting for another officer to come and get all my information for the police report, when I saw a car pull up at the curb. It was my car. I was so sure of it, that I raced outside to confront the driver about taking it, but when I arrived there was no one there. I’d kept my eyes glued on car the whole way and hadn’t seen anyone get out or anyone walk anywhere near it.

I checked the door. Locked.

I unlocked it with my keys and got in. Then I got back out. Then I walked all the way around the outside. Then I got back in and just sat in the driver’s seat for a minute. Out loud I asked, “Am I going crazy?”. In response, the engine purred to life, without any participation on my part.

Yeah, my car is possessed. Haunted? Maybe. Has a mind of its own? For sure. Does it freak me out? Absolutely.

I tried to sell it once and it showed up back at my house. The title was sitting in the front seat with only my name on it. I guess I keep thinking that maybe if I treat it badly enough, it’ll leave me of its own free will. On the other hand, maybe we’re just so co-dependent that neither of us will ever leave until we die.

Maybe I should name it, just so I’ll have something to yell the next time it does its disappearing and reappearing act. On the other hand, a name might be going too far.

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