I was drawn first to the idea of her... she was my liberty, my independence. She was my American Dream. Charlotte, was the car that had that look that could kill. Look at her long enough, and you remember your first love. Look at her lines, her curves, and she evokes that yearning, that subtle power that makes you question what else could come close.
Nothing can. She drives smooth. Silent. She can yell, clear her sinuses and assert her American Voice. "Here I am." Is she fast? There are faster cars. Is she powerful? There are more powerful cars out there. It's her very American Cool that got me. Her James Dean "I don't give a fuck" attitude that won me over. You can search for the best, but what she is is that slight flawed girl next door. Charlotte was my first car out of college.
She was all mine. My own credit, my own labor, that paid her on a promise to make good. It's almost a year and that year saw some radical growth. She was my center. She was what brings me back. It's the constant pursuit that makes this country so damn amazing. We sacrifice it all hoping dreaming of a better day.
Every month I struggle to make ends meet to pay those blood sucking creditors, and every month I am reminded of what she means to me. She's my freedom. That if push comes to shove I can just say "Fuck it" and drive off into the sunset. The open road calls, and I'm wondering yearning and in awe of freedom... what it really means and what cost we must pay. Charlotte is American and what it means to be independent and free. She is a challenge and a Challenger. I thought of those electric cars, and no doubt I will be buying one in the near future... but my Dodge Challenger, my Charlotte, she is a fixed moment in time... when I saw the coming of the times and I said "Fuck it" this is who and what I am... forever in this moment I will not yield to the onslaught of the mighty waves... I will hold my own... and perish to my dreams of real freedom."
At what cost...? I'm not a fool. I can see the world spiral towards self correction, to a third Golden Age, and I will revel in my time when men conquered our own passionate deamons, but until then... I hold on the vestiges of that profane... that self indulgence of rebellion.... an antihero of the damned and forgotten.
This July 4th, as fireworks burst and flare before me, I think of the possible future.. whether it is golden or catastrophic... a twilight with no dawn or a dawn of the ages... I have her still... she is mine, a constant struggle... a constant challenge. Happy Independence Day.
