Movement is...slowly becoming more difficult. I am trying my best. I don’t want to be a burden; no matter how old I get, I’ll NEVER become a burden.

It’s hard to see at night. I am trying my best. My family haven’t taken me out at night for a long time. They haven’t taken me anywhere lately.

These four walls are getting boring. I’ve tried to let them know how tired I am, but they don’t listen. They can’t hear me anymore, not that they ever paid much attention to what I told them. When the youngest started learning how to drive, I told him a million times that his driving was dangerous. He could get hurt. It would wreak havoc with the brakes, I said. I tried my best.

I still feel terrible about the accident.

I haven’t really seen them since. The youngest lost his leg. From where I sit, I sometimes see him practicing with his new prosthetic. He gets angry. I understand. It’s hard to get used to a new part. He’s trying his best.

My thoughts are becoming slow. I’m so tired.

I’m trying...something. I don’t remember any more.

That’s it for a while. Nothing but dozing, half-awake and barely aware. My body is becoming stiff. I couldn’t move if I tried. I’m drifting.

I’m going.

I...

I’m moving?

I’m moving!

Momentary elation. Then...not right. Not moving right. BEING moved? Where...are we... going? Can’t think. Can’t move. Can’t see. Not scared, just tired. Stop moving. Now rest.

Warm. Warm hand.

...Family?

Warm voice. Sad too. Sorry for that.

“Sorry for this, buddy. Nothing personal, it’s just your time, I guess. Thanks for everything.”

I know that voice. I remember that voice. I remember all the journeys, the fun. Going on dates together, the wedding, bringing home the kids, one after the other. Watching them grow. Dropped ice cream. Crayons that left stains. Tears that left stains.

Blood that left stains. Screams, squealing brakes, twisting crunching snapping PAIN. I told you! I tried! You didn’t listen, and we both got hurt. I tried. I tried, I tried, I tried.

I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t keep you safe. Your daddy told me to keep you safe. I couldn’t. It’s my fault. I’m sorry. It’s my f—

“—ault. The crash. It was my fault. I’m so sorry. Now you’re all broken. Five years of being left alone didn’t do you any good, huh buddy?”

A voice in the background. Sounds, lots of sounds. It’s loud, but it’s you I hear. Everything else is muffled, slow, soothing somehow. Nice rhythm. You’re still speaking. I’m trying my best to listen.

“You...were the best car ever. I’ll miss you, man.”

You take your hand off of my bumper, then pat me twice. I hear your uneven steps fade. The sounds of the scrapyard become closer, but I’m not scared. I’m ready.

You touched me again. You forgave me.

I’m so, so grateful.