My Purple Car
My pocket vibrated as my phone started ringing. “Hello?” I said. “Hey Chris,” my dad replied, “I, uh, didn’t want to ruin your weekend, but your car has been vandalized.” “Dad, what did you do to my car?” I said jokingly. I thought he was playing a prank on me and had placed Buffalo Bill stickers on my car or something. He replied, “Chris, I’m not kidding. I didn’t do anything to your car.” “What?!!” I screeched. He spoke quickly, “Honey, don’t worry about it. We will get it fixed. You just enjoy your weekend.” It was too late though. Tears shot up and threatened to spill over onto my cheeks. It had been such a great day too and now it was ruined.
Thursday afternoon, I drove to the Trask parking lot with my adidas bags packed full with my running shoes, uniform, and extra clothes for the weekend. The top eight lady cross-country runners were going to Louisville, Kentucky to race at Regionals. I was so excited to go. I pulled up to the building and ran inside to grab a parking pass from my Coach. I jogged back to my car and hurried to park at the UNCW track so we could get on the van and start our ten hour trip to KY. I jumped into the backseat of the van and we were on our way. We arrived in Louisville on Friday and started preparing for our race on Saturday morning. I was pumped and ready for the race.
Saturday morning finally came around after a restless night of sleep. We drove to the park where the race was and my family was waiting there for me. The sun was shining brightly and the temperature was in the 50’s. It was the perfect set up for a great race. After one last shout, “Go Seahawks!” the girls lined up at the start. The gun went off and the pain began. A grueling 23 minutes later, I finished the race with my personal record for the season. I could not stop smiling as we packed up our bags so we could go explore downtown Louisville and eat some delicious food.
We stopped at Joe’s Crab Shack to eat lunch. We all sat down and excitedly discussed our race. What an awesome day. I thought. I got to see my mom and all my siblings. I set a personal record in the 6k which ended our season on a great note. And we were going to get to downtown Louisville. Nothing could have ruined my joyous mood and then…I felt my pocket vibrate. I glanced at my phone. Oh, it’s my dad. After the conversation with my dad, I found it hard to go back to celebrating. The thrill of the end of the season and the last race had vanished.
The next day we started our trip back to Wilmington. Knots tightened in my stomach as I impatiently waited to get to campus so I could look at my car. We pulled in the track parking lot and I held my breath as we inched closer and closer to my car. Then, I let out a startled shriek. My usually glimmering dark purple Dodge Stratus was covered with dirt and mud. Both my side mirrors had been knocked off. One was missing while the other dangled pitifully from the blue and red wires out of the car. My passenger back door had a dent the size of basketball in it. Rage rose through my entire body as I observed the damages. Those stupid jerks!!
I drove my beat-up car home and depressingly went to call my insurance. They informed that since I had liability only they would not be able to help me pay for the damages. I held back a frustrated scream that was making its way up my throat. I went back outside to observe my car one more time. As I stood there contemplating why it had to be my car, I started to laugh. Of course it would be my car. Why wouldn’t it be? I called my mom so she could humor me with some sympathy. I thought I had to salvage what was left of my Sunday. I told her what happened and then was silent, waiting for her to feel sorry for me. And this is what she said, “Well, next time don’t buy a purple car.”
Thursday afternoon, I drove to the Trask parking lot with my adidas bags packed full with my running shoes, uniform, and extra clothes for the weekend. The top eight lady cross-country runners were going to Louisville, Kentucky to race at Regionals. I was so excited to go. I pulled up to the building and ran inside to grab a parking pass from my Coach. I jogged back to my car and hurried to park at the UNCW track so we could get on the van and start our ten hour trip to KY. I jumped into the backseat of the van and we were on our way. We arrived in Louisville on Friday and started preparing for our race on Saturday morning. I was pumped and ready for the race.
Saturday morning finally came around after a restless night of sleep. We drove to the park where the race was and my family was waiting there for me. The sun was shining brightly and the temperature was in the 50’s. It was the perfect set up for a great race. After one last shout, “Go Seahawks!” the girls lined up at the start. The gun went off and the pain began. A grueling 23 minutes later, I finished the race with my personal record for the season. I could not stop smiling as we packed up our bags so we could go explore downtown Louisville and eat some delicious food.
We stopped at Joe’s Crab Shack to eat lunch. We all sat down and excitedly discussed our race. What an awesome day. I thought. I got to see my mom and all my siblings. I set a personal record in the 6k which ended our season on a great note. And we were going to get to downtown Louisville. Nothing could have ruined my joyous mood and then…I felt my pocket vibrate. I glanced at my phone. Oh, it’s my dad. After the conversation with my dad, I found it hard to go back to celebrating. The thrill of the end of the season and the last race had vanished.
The next day we started our trip back to Wilmington. Knots tightened in my stomach as I impatiently waited to get to campus so I could look at my car. We pulled in the track parking lot and I held my breath as we inched closer and closer to my car. Then, I let out a startled shriek. My usually glimmering dark purple Dodge Stratus was covered with dirt and mud. Both my side mirrors had been knocked off. One was missing while the other dangled pitifully from the blue and red wires out of the car. My passenger back door had a dent the size of basketball in it. Rage rose through my entire body as I observed the damages. Those stupid jerks!!
I drove my beat-up car home and depressingly went to call my insurance. They informed that since I had liability only they would not be able to help me pay for the damages. I held back a frustrated scream that was making its way up my throat. I went back outside to observe my car one more time. As I stood there contemplating why it had to be my car, I started to laugh. Of course it would be my car. Why wouldn’t it be? I called my mom so she could humor me with some sympathy. I thought I had to salvage what was left of my Sunday. I told her what happened and then was silent, waiting for her to feel sorry for me. And this is what she said, “Well, next time don’t buy a purple car.”
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