Pink Magic. That’s what my car is. Before I had it painted by the Amazing Anthony in Phoenix Arizona, it was just a silver Ford Escape. Which is okay but I knew that I needed something more if I was going to go back out on the road without Handsome Husband. And I was going back out on the road. I told Handsome Husband that I was and I told him he’d be able to find me wherever I was, because my car would be pink.
Which it is now. And it isn’t just a car any longer. It’s a magical car. As I traveled East from Arizona, I was stopped by people at rest stops, at restaurants, on the street, pretty much wherever it was parked. Or, as I was driving on the highways or roads, I’d get a thumbs up from those passing me, or they would gesture at me while at a red light to roll my window down and they’d ask me “Why pink? There’s got to be a story with that!”
Yes, there is, and I’ve been able to share that story as I traveled here to NJ.
Tell me, how many times have you been to a Motor Vehicles inspection station and gotten a hug? I got one today from one of the guys taking my car through. He asked me about my car and was touched at the love in the story, and, before I left, he gave me a hug. Which I really needed at that moment.
I’m living for the hugs I’ve been getting since Handsome Husband died. My days and my nights have blended into a dull ache of missinghimitis. Desperately and sadly. I ache for his arms around me, for his gaze upon me, his hand on my leg as we drive. For his voice calling me beautiful. For him. The hole in my life is massive and incomprehensible even to me.
So, this car, this Pink Magic car, is giving me that human touch, as people reach out to it, and to me, with hugs, with stories of their own, with love and compassion. It isn’t a car anymore. Since the moment I picked it up from the Amazing Anthony, it has worked its’ magic in my life.