Everything was wonderful that night at the dealership. We both had a little something in us, and I’ll admit that our judgement was impaired. She was so pretty there in the parking, and when the sales-person jingled the key, we both shuddered in our respective stances. Me inside the showroom, her out in the parking lot.

From there, I’m not sure what happened. Everything moved so fast. She was great. We laughed, we talked (about nothing and everything, on and on for hours), and we drove. It was effortless. She shifted from gear to gear like a dream, and didn’t miss a beat in the conversation, even when taking the turns. We took the highway, back roads, drove through little towns, up into the mountains, down along the coast, on and on. The night never ended.

The next morning, she woke me up with a low purr. “Good Morning, Michael,” she said.

Oh God, I think. What did we do last night? Say something. Smile.

I don’t know what it was. In the morning light, she just looked different somehow. Her lines, a little harsher. She was still pretty, but in a different way. I managed a smile, and popped open the glove box. My name is on the title.

“Do you want to go for another drive, Michael?” she revved her engine just a little.

That was six years ago. I finally finished paying her off and we parted ways amicably. I know it was a mistake, and I know that it was doomed from the start, but as she drove away with a fifty-year old divorcee with a gold chain and too much chest-hair, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness.

Good bye, KITT. I wish you the best.