I saw another one today- sleek black, de-badged, no way to know if it was a 2.0 or 3.8, beyond being a first generation before the refresh and simply being beautiful. I followed it through the parking lot, just wanting my few seconds with my little dream. No, that’s not right, it’s not a dream, which is probably the worst of it. Dream cars are Bugatti Veyrons, first generation Jaguar E-Types, Lamborghinis, and Ferraris. Those rare glimpses of art and engineering floating on a chassis and four wheels, but that’s not what this is. I can tell you the supercars I love; any gearhead has a whole list of them they can rattle off at the least bitof prompting. But my Genesis Coupé isn’t some unobtainable dream, it’s worse than that.
It’s a white rabbit I chase after with every hour I log at work, that I stumble towards, scratched up and bruised because it could be mine, if just. If I just get through this project, pay off this bill, try and ask for a raise, maybe just a few more weeks. It’s my “almost there just…”, that brass ring just out of reach, the game of tag you nearly won, if only you’d hadn’t lost your balance as your reached out, stretching and straining.
There is a point you hit where you can look back enough at your life and you start to wonder what happened, because you look in the mirror and… well, that can’t be right. The person in my head and the one in the mirror are so different and impossible to reconcile.
I’m suppose to be the sleek girl in the Genesis Coupé: self-possessed, elegant, cool, and confident. She’s been tried and tested and not found wanting; she’s got this, so let her get to work and show you what awesome looks like. But that’s not me, suffering inconsideration and veiled insults, tripping in my short heels over a pothole. My bad ankle gives and my bare knees still sting an hour later from the bite of bitter asphalt. At least my favorite bag is okay and my best skirt didn’t get dirty; it’s the small things, right?
When you say to most people you aren’t doing so well today, the response a general expression of sympathy and, “It will get better soon.” I keep waiting. So many days have been feelings like this, full of exhaustion and dissatisfaction; I wonder how I keep picking myself up when my road is packed with potholes. It could be worse, yes, and I do appreciate the good in my life. But being stuck? For ambitious people it’s simply maddening.
More terrifying than anything is the day I have those keys. Because what if I’m not her yet? What if I don’t match? I guess, if that day finally comes, we have to hope the car lives up to its name: Genesis.
Author’s Note: Originally written in February, 2013. I still don’t have Genesis Coupé, but I do terrorize the streets in a comfy (if rather large) Sonata Turbo. Progress?