Farewell to my first car

So, Sunday afternoon I went to puppets just like usual. My puppet team meets at 3:30 and I was running behind, but my car had been acting up so I backed into my parking spot. When I had parked and got out, I noticed I hadn't gotten fully into the spot, so I got back in and turned the key so I could fit it in correctly. The motor turned over, but didn't start. Thinking carefully, I tried it once more, because as I said, my car had been flinching. I was rewarded with the same result. I had jumper cables, but no one was outside the church, so I called my dad, already officially late for puppets but no longer caring. My dad was about five minutes away so I told my coach then waited for him. First he tried the key himself, because of course I am a teenage girl and not nearly qualified to be the judge of a cars well-being. When he relieved the same reaction from my poor car, he hooked up the jumper cables. Once it was all hooked up, he tried the key to my car again and it clicked. I had a feeling that because it was making a different noise something was wrong. My dad adjusted the cables and tried again, but to no avail. They called a tow truck Monday morning, and proceeded to examine it. Meanwhile, I grabbed rides from who I could. Monday night my parents came into Fall Play practice to tell me my car was done. The starter was out, which is apparently a necessary and expensive part (see why my dad was thinking "teenage girl"?) and my parents were going to let me have the blue car, getting my mom a new car. So, to end my story, I emptied my car out yesterday and nearly cried. After all, it was the car I spent hours talking to my best friend in, and the car my parents let me drive to one early band my sophomore year. Even though it's just a hunk of metal on two rubber wheels, it was my partner in getting my first (accidental) speeding ticket. So, this is an ode to my now "dead" car.