She’d told me the day I bought the damn thing and every day since how ill-suited the car was for this climate. How ill-suited I was for the car. Turns out in the long run, it was more that I was ill-suited for her than anything else. And though she was right about one thing, that every day I have to fight the rust and the weather, it’s still mine after all this time. She isn’t.

I didn’t always appreciate her, though. The first few months were rough. And the only reason I didn’t sell her back to the dealership was I didn’t want to hear Lila give me the dreaded told-you-so’s she very much enjoyed throwing around. To this day, I still don’t really know why the car called out to me. I’d never been one much for cars, or vintage, or anything that took a lot of work to run. But for her, I ended up pushing those boundaries. Learning everything I could about restoring and maintaining old cars, she truly became something special. Both to me and by her own stature.

My beautiful Lula—the car that is—not my ex, Lila, treats me right most days if I treat her right. Of course, I have to keep a roof over her head, especially on days like today when those clouds are heavy with the promise of rain. And maybe she doesn’t have a roof to keep over my own, but I love her all the same. Perhaps more so. Because on days when those clouds aren’t there, when I’m able to take her out and enjoy the sun on the island, the wind in my hair, I feel young again.

You see, we’re the same age, Lula and I. But where she’s still bright and shiny…and I do a lot to keep her that way, thank you very much! Me, not so much. You can’t find me new parts like you can for Lula, or wax me to look as shiny as the day I was born. When my eyes start failing, and I’ll have to ask my son to drive me around to enjoy her instead, you can’t find a new bulb for them like you can her headlights.