Ode to Gregory

car/companion/confidant

$5,000.

That’s how much my parents gifted me for a new car. It was one month into my senior year at Georgia State University. The dorms were laughably expensive so I was living at home in Decatur and commuting downtown everyday for class. My beloved ’97 Ford Taurus named Gertrude decided she was done with life and the living of it. I couldn’t blame her. Life was, and is, hard. While I’d hoped she would carry me through graduation, Gerty had other plans. She was the end of a long line of Donohue hand-me-down vehicles, an assortment of elderly Toyotas and refurbished minivans. She served me well but her untimely death meant I had to scramble for a replacement. And quickly.

Car shopping was just one more stress added onto a growing list. Classes, rehearsals, studio projects, a part-time job at the university bookstore, not to mention a social life, left me with little reserves in the tank. One month in and I was already beating back the senioritis. But I was desperate and desperation necessitated action. I thought $5,000 was a veritable boatload of money. At least, it seemed that way relative to the $7.25 an hour I was making. Surely finding my next car would just be a matter of a few days’ worth of internet searching and signing some paperwork. I just needed to do it and get back to surviving school.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that five grand was actually not a lot of money for a car. How did people do this? Why were these things so expensive? I scoured the internet for days, landing on sketchy sites with dubious contact information and grainy photos. I test drove a Honda Civic whose mileage was already 6-figures deep. Every turn felt like a dead end. I was losing hope. Any vehicle that cost $5,000 was old as dirt, beat up as hell, and/or visibly jerry-rigged within an inch of its life. This was not good and the clock was ticking.

I schemed up an idea that would prove to be not only brilliant but possibly my only way forward. What if I used the money from my parents as a down payment on a more expensive car and then took out a loan to cover the rest? This would open up my search options beyond hoopdies and scams. Sure, I’d end up with a car payment but that can’t be such a big deal. What’s a couple hundred bucks a month, I thought. Eventually I’d come to find out the answer to that question. In the meantime I propositioned my parents and was shocked that it was not an automatic ‘no.’ I had assumed I’d need to put up a fight but they readily agreed to my proposal. Maybe they were sympathetic to my stress level. Or perhaps they were worried that our current arrangement would put me in a dangerous dud. But ultimately I think they were tired of my complaining, tired of the nightly game of car Tetris, and tired of driving my ass to school like I was 9 years old. In any case, they were on board and my dad got me a Kelley Blue Book to do research.

The car search was suddenly thrown wide open. I was off to the races. The first step was to figure out exactly what I could afford (not much). While this put up some necessary parameters, the world still remained my oyster. Sedans, hatch backs, SUVs, minivans, trucks! So many options. I’d seen commercials for Carmax and decided to give it a try. They had a seemingly never-ending supply of vehicles and they don’t haggle like a dealership. Both of those appealed to me. So on a Saturday morning my parents took me up to the Carmax in Norcross.

While I don’t remember who exactly helped us, I remember being assigned a Carmax associate. From there it was like being gently placed on a inner tube in the lazy river at Six Flags. We were taken care of by competence and a well-oiled machine. Guided along. We looked at two cars I’d scoped out in advance. I can’t remember the first car but the second one had potential. Lots and lots of potential.

It was a 2007 tan Ford Focus. I guess staying in the Ford family made sense post-Gertrude. He was a compact little sedan and only 3 years old. No frills but he seemed sensible. When out on the test drive, mom complained that it was a little loud. I didn’t really notice. Dad and I chalked it up to the fact that mom was in the back seat and prefers things generally be quiet. When we got back from the test drive, I was ready to buy it right then and there. My dad, ever the level-headed scientist, said we should give it 24 hours. My barely-developed brain hated the idea of walking away and possibly letting some other broke college student scoop up my car. But I did as Dad instructed.

The next day I woke up certain that the tan Ford Focus was the car for me. My parents agreed. During that 24 hours they had also made a decision. They would take out the loan for me since I had no credit. They’d use part of that $5,000 for the down payment and the rest would cover monthly payments until I graduated and could start paying them myself.

Driving off the lot was completely exhilarating. After what felt like hours of paper-signing, I (read: Mom and Dad) was handed the keys to my liberation and future. I drove us home. Yes, Mom was kinda right. The car was a little loud. While on the highway it felt like nearby cars were actually passing through us. It didn’t matter though. The car was basic and simple and perfect. All I needed. Even though I hadn’t spent a dime of my own money and my name was nowhere to be found on any piece of paper, he was all mine. He wasn’t a hand-me-down. He unknowingly held the secrets to my future.

He was quickly dubbed “Gregory.” It was a sensible name for a sensible car. Something about him just seemed like a Gregory. I pictured a lanky architect with salt-and-pepper hair and studious wire-rimmed glasses. He’d wear tweed and carry a briefcase all before the age of 40. Gregory was not the life of the party but definitely good people. He’d look you in the eye when you spoke and only drank Americanos. Safe and competent.

And that’s exactly what Gregory the Car was for me. For the next 15 years and 150,000 miles, he was my most steady companion. I spent more time with him than with any single human. He would help me wrap up my senior year of college and relieve my parents of chauffeuring duties. Then came my first year of waiting tables and doing theatre in Atlanta. He drove me to many a rehearsal. Eventually he’d take me to my dad’s funeral. After that, I would load Gregory up with a few boxes and we’d make the journey to Los Angeles. For 4 days my aunt and I took him from one side of the country to the other.

While in LA, Gregory spent a lot of time on the 101 and the 405. He got quite a few parking tickets. He took me from Santa Monica to the Valley, West Hollywood to North Hollywood. He saw me as my dreams were overtaken by the burden of adulthood. Eventually he and I would sojourn back to Atlanta. My scared little heart in my hands and the path forward unclear.

He drove me to take my real estate license exam and to early-morning gym classes. He got me to an unfathomable number shifts at several different restaurants, usually on time. We drove to Wilmington, NC for my first ever on-camera acting job. Together we drove to St. Louis a bunch. We traversed much of the Southeast and every single part of Atlanta. He saw mountains and farmland and beach. He had his film debut in 2022 when I shot my pilot.

Gregory took me to a lot of first dates. He took me to a lot of auditions. I’ve kissed a few boys inside Gregory. I’ve kissed a few boys on top of Gregory. I have cried inside his noisy cabin more than anywhere else on the planet. He’s seen my heart get broken by men and career and family and the grief of open-heartedness. He’s heard me listen to podcasts and sing at the top of my lungs and talk out loud to myself and leave laughably long voice memos for my friends. He’s known me in every type of mood and condition. He’s seen me at my best and at my worst. Gregory has been privy to the truest parts of me, more so than any person.

This 2007 tan Ford Focus became a part of my identity. Everyone who drove up to the gym knew whether I was there because of Gregory. Even my friends had a loving, albeit teasing, relationship with him. Folks would comment on how he’s looking and ask about his health. This car, for better or worse, was an intricate part of my life. He was a conduit to the rest of the world.

And a few weeks ago Gregory and I parted ways forever. It happened during a time I’ve come to call my Season of Goodbyes. A mechanic had given a terminal prognosis and told me I didn’t have much time. I drove that car for as long as I possibly could but it was his time. I went back to Carmax in Norcross. Once again I was treated well as I handed them the keys to Gregory. His final gift to me was a not-zero trade in value toward a new car. I sat in that extremely worn drivers’ seat one last time as I drove him up to the service entrance. When I went inside I handed over my keys.

I didn’t cry but I certainly felt. This car, this piece of machinery, was omnipresent for the entirety of my adult life. I drove it for 42% of my time on planet Earth (thus far). It was a thing and it was a place. It was a means of transportation and a means of refuge. This feat of engineering, this collection of metal and plastic and wires, was given a name and given a personality. For 15 years it “did right” by me. And for that, I will be forever grateful.

So here’s to you, Gregory. Thank you for your loyalty and service. Thanks for the trustworthiness and steadfastness. Thank you for keeping me safe and helping me chase my dreams. Thank you for housing so much of my life over the last 15 years. You were an incredible companion, a great protector, my representative, and always a little loud.

Godspeed, good Gregory.

Me and Gregory (and my Mom) in the hit TV pilot Mel Adrienne Charlie