In my senior year of high school I inherited my older sister’s 2003 Honda Pilot. It was the 2nd car I had ever called my own and it was love at first sight. I named her Penny. Now I wish there was a funny story or reason why I named her that, but honestly I just thought it was cute. Penny and I have been through a lot these last 3 and one half years. I would like to say we are both better for it, but I think one of us has a few less miles left in her than the other.
My mom, dad, younger sister and I drove Penny down to Nashville after I graduated from high school. She made it about 5 hours from town when the AC went out (a great way to start living in a city enduring one of it’s hottest summers on record). Needless to say we got her here, took her to several shops, and eventually she was pumping icy, cold, refreshing air once again. I thought to myself, “Glad I got that out of the way, what else could happen with the car now?” Little did I know…
The day after my mom left me here alone in Nashville, I pulled out of my apartment complex onto the main road, when out of no where my car started vibrating and making a sound similar to a fork in a garbage disposal. I pull over as quickly as I could, turned the car off, and then it hit me, it was just Penny and me. Alone. I knew 2 people here in town, my vocal coach and my producer at the time, both of whom were busy and not answering their phones. So there I was, 18 years old sitting on the side of the road, in a new city, trying desperately not to cry. But I did. I cried a lot. After about 20 minutes of calling my mom and dad wishing they could appear and save the day, a police officer pulled up out of nowhere. His name was Officer Po and I will forever be grateful for this sweet, sweet man. He called a tow truck, talked to my dad on the phone, calmed me down, and then gave me and my guitar a personal escort back to my apartment (whilst telling me all the ways to keep myself safe and how much mace I should carry at all times). I have no words for the kindness that was shown to me that day by a total stranger who could have just driven by.
Penny had a broken axle, but did eventually get fixed…again, only to go on and be involved in a hit and run (for the record I was the one hit), have plenty of doors slammed into her sides, run over a tire or two on the highway and plenty of other things I haven’t told my parents about yet. The moral of the story is, that Penny and I are still going strong down here in Nashville. When things get rough and we get dented and scratched, we take a few days in the shop (or for me some good ol’ R&R) and come back stronger than before. Here’s to many more days writing of music and chugging along with Penny.