Loss of my Childhood Friend

Loss of my Childhood Friend

Helena Schnee

My first memorable end was the end of a friendship. Mr. Red, the name flickers with old memories. There isn’t a single detail about him I could ever forget. His fire red skin, shining in the summer. His dirty black tires coated with adventures. His seats powdered with stories, and his trunk fitted only for us. But, like all things in the world eventually will, he got old and started to rust. He was family, and family helps family, but there came a point in which all that could be done had been done.
The day my dad came home and had told me Mr. Red’s check up didn’t go well was the beginning of the end, and I knew it. The people said that he was unsafe to drive on the road and we were no longer allowed to do so. Hearing this broke my heart, I can’t even imagine what it must’ve done to his. He was made to drive and now he couldn’t do it anymore. Our adventures were over, and I would miss them greatly.
I would miss the sunny days when the smell of the ocean calmed me and the sound of seagulls were like music. When we’d load Mr. Red with boogie boards and sand castle molds with small plastic shovels and pails. With loose volleyballs and footballs tumbling around loudly, the sound convinced me of losing one. I would miss the feeling of my sandy toes brushing against his floor, making a mess, but not caring because I knew he didn’t mind. I would miss loading him with bikes and driving off to dusty trails. I would miss my dad informing me of when to shift his gears. I would miss picking up our Christmas tree and driving it home with his assistants. But most of all I would miss his presence. He made me feel as though there wasn’t anything in the world that couldn’t be done.
The day that we sold him I told him everything I’d miss. He was a good listener as always. Then I climbed in and went on my final ride. We drove to my grandmother’s house, she wanted to say goodbye. Everyone went inside the house to eat and talk. I stayed with Mr. Red. I didn’t want his last day as mine to be lonely. We sat in the hot sun and just enjoyed each other’s company, then drove to the dealership.
We handed the keys over, they took him and drove somewhere out of sight. They then showed us our new truck, RJ, Red Junior. He was a small grey truck. He was a stranger. He wasn’t family, he was just a truck. His sole purpose was to get us to our destination, and that was it. Perhaps in other circumstances our relationship would’ve been different, but not in this one. He was the replacement for my friend, and I hated him. I made him aware that I would never and could never feel for him what I had felt for Mr. Red. My family was sad, but after a couple of days they were back to their normal ways. I, however, was left missing a piece of my heart, a piece Mr. Red had kept with him. Days of sadness had gone by slowly. These days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Over time the pain of Mr. Red’s absence dwindled until nothing but glorious memories remained.
A couple years have passed since the loss of my Mr. Red. RJ remains in my garage but not in my family. Every now and again I’ll see the ghost of Mr. Red hidden inside his lookalikes. The moment sends thousands of memories rushing towards my head. Oh, what I would give to see him one more time, but I mustn’t dwell on things that only cause me sorrow. Never again will I see my friend standing before my eyes. No, it seems that now the only way to see him is to be done with the closing of my eyes.