I’ve been stuck, honestly, thinking I should write about how our car was stolen. But what is there to say?
He was a 1995 Honda Civic, the first “big” thing I ever bought. He carried every important person in my life across seventeen years I owned him, took little Zoom home from the hospital, he drove the country three times, and he had a name. Cobie. After the soccer player Cobie Jones.
Last Tuesday night, someone stole him from in front of our new home. We think it was around 2:00am. Sean had put the Club on him, the doors were locked. We live in a “safe” neighborhood at the end of a long cul-de-sac. The police can not believe that a thief would drive down this long cul-de-sac, risk getting caught, for a car.
Sure, I know that the 1989-1997 Hondas, Toyotas and Acuras are still the most stolen cars in the US. Yes, I’m aware that the Club doesn’t deter thieves. I get it. I’m not sure how those statistics and information are ever an appropriate piece of conversation to bring up when someone tells you they’ve had their car stolen. “I’m sorry,” or “that’s terrible,” seem to be more fitting.
Because you see, this was my Cobie. And, really, all I would have liked was to say good bye and thank you for being a great car. I would have liked to have a moment to acknowlege what memories were created in that little car, to have spent a few moments remembering the back roads of Kansas with it’s big sky, the forge we visited in Pennsylvania with my mom, the crazy time we rolled down the snowy driveway in Connecticut, the sweet drive home with Zoom for the first time. And I would have like to have chosen his next owner, to have known where his next adventure would take him.
A week has passed and even the police know nothing more than we did that first morning we found out he was gone. That pit-of-your-stomach feeling, seeing the blank space on the driveway, the “he’s surely around here somewhere” moment, and then knowing, no, he’s been taken.
We will hold out hope that Cobie will come home. I’ve already fought with our insurance, insisting that they extend the date they will mark the car as a “total loss.” They thought I was crazy and told me most people just want the check, and to move on. And to that, well, I have to imagine that most of those people have not just bought a home, are not living on one income, and are not strangely sentimental about a sweet little blue car they named and loved and cherished.