I remem­ber Christie once telling me that she always wanted to bring presents to someone’s house at Christmas. We were wait­ing at the train sta­tion to Toronto, our exams fin­ished, doing exactly that. Carrying bags with a fon­due set, maybe a can­dle holder, and other assorted mis­cel­lany for my par­ents who already had everything.

As a seventeen-year-old with an adorable baby-face, she was rarely taken seri­ously as a mature and respon­si­ble per­son. I could tell that hav­ing this hol­i­day tra­di­tion was her way of feel­ing like an adult. Not the gro­cery shop­ping we would do, not the lin­gerie she would wear for me, or even the act of love itself, but a fam­ily to go to, gifts to give, a house to stay in, a lit­tle piece of matu­rity.

Honda Civic 2008 exterior

Honda Civic 2008 dashboard

Honda Civic 2008 exterior

For me, it’s this car.

Not the bills. Not the house. Not the mortgage.

It’s being able to get any­where. It’s feel­ing these keys in my pocket and know­ing that they’re mine. It’s dri­ving home after class when it’s dark out, blast­ing a night mix on the stereo. It’s even look­ing for a park­ing spot down­town on a Monday after­noon, or get­ting stuck in traffic.

It’s hav­ing all these things that I’ve never had before.