I think that men and their vehicles are different from women and their vehicles.
When we first started going out, Tim had an old truck. That was actually our first meeting outside work. I had bought a bed for my daughter and was trying to figure out how to haul it. He offered. I paid him with dinner.
One thing led to another, and we were dating. And then the woman who was never getting married again was getting married again.
He always wanted to fix up that truck, but we never had the money. We were raising children, five between us, and NAFTA meant that the area was bleeding machinist jobs to foreign countries. It was a time of lay-offs and struggling, and just plainly working hard.
But he loved that truck.
Tim has been looking for his 'retirement truck', a nice truck to take him into his retirement years, and it has been a bone of contention between us. He thinks the new trucks are too pricey. I don't want him to buy another old truck. We HAVE an old truck already, for pete's sake. I'd like this to be an upgrade.
A couple weeks ago, he found a truck on line.
The current owner has rebuilt this. The engine only has 60,000 miles. He's taken everything apart, sandblasted it and painted everything, including the frame, and put it all back together again The brakes and lines are new. It has a new exhaust. Actually, pretty much everything that can be replaced has been replaced.
Every time that he gets on the computer, Tim goes to market place and studies that truck. He's mentioned it a couple times, but over the weekend, when he went to show me the truck, he couldn't find it. "It's sold," he said. "It was a nice one."
I felt kind of bad, because I realized then how much he wanted it, although he kept assuring me that he didn't.
Tim's off work for 3 weeks, having some problems with tendonitis in his elbow, so I get up in the morning by myself. I brought my coffee into the office as usual, and sat down in the dark. He left his facebook up, and I saw it. He'd found that truck. It hadn't been sold.
I sipped my coffee, thinking about it.
Once I was showered and ready to leave the house, I walked into the still dark bedroom. "Tim?" and a sleepy, 'huh?' came back.
"Go get your truck."
Long pause. "No," he said.
"I want you to have it. Go get the truck."
And I left for work.
I wondered what he would do. I got home to supper on the table. I had left the spaghetti sauce going in the crock pot, but he'd made the pasta and dished it up.
I sat down.
"So...did you get your truck?"
"Yeah, I did," and he waited. He's going to do the paperwork and pick it up Saturday.
"I wanted you to have it," I said.
And he smiled. "It's the same year, same color, same model truck I had when I met you. It's exactly the same."