The car that meant the world

A year or two ago, as my mom was driving me to summer school one fine, sunny morning, I happened to glance out my passenger window just as we passed one of those huge, pretentious Mendocino St. mansions, and saw that young, hot neighbor I'd always known I had to have. He was wearing a green "Staff" tee, and standing next to a white Volvo station wagon (ROCK ON STATION WAGONS!!!), and talking to someone who I assumed to be his mom, who was standing on the perfectly trimmed, green, sprawling lawn between his car and their cake-like white house.

Why he was perfect:

1. He was obviously teenaged. Clues: he lived at home; his mother was out on the front lawn talking to him; he looked impatient; he was wearing a bright green "Staff" t-shirt.
   
2. He was HOT.
   
3. He was rich.
   
4. His mom looked nice!
   
5. He drove a station wagon.

He still lives there. The white station wagon is parked there every day, and I see it when I leave in the morning and when I come home at night. And one time when I was super grumpy, and my mom was driving my station wagon because her car was in the shop and we had to share mine, there were two boys standing in the road next to the station wagon, about to get in to go somewhere tremendously sexy.

I always pay attention, no matter how bleary-eyed or tired I am, going to or coming from all my exciting going-tos and coming-froms. It's not even obsessive anymore. It's just habit. The day has started out right when that station wagon is where it should be, at the foot of that green, sloping lawn and that giant, white mansion. It's that little daily reminder that they're out there. Somewhere.

posted by Holly @ 11:57 PM