Trapped without Escape

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to call the Escape my own. The candy-apple red, 399-RKR, Ford Escape. I can't remember when it started exactly, but initially I liked it because it exuded coolness in every form. My older siblings drove it to high school and that meant it was mature. It looked sleek yet sporty, and that too was deemed cool. The bright red color was bold and eye-catching, not abrasive like the yellow, and the shiny finish didn't hurt it's image either. I longed to drive it, to acquire it as my own when my siblings went off to college. I wasn't eager for them to leave or anything, but I took solace in the fact that this masterpiece would fall into my hands. No school bus for me senior year. No toolish suburban or 10mph-max Subaru. I would have the Escape.
Time ticked by slowly and incredibly fast at the same time and before I knew it, I was leanring how to drive so that I could pass my license test. I practiced in the Ford Focus, a smaller silver car with a few dents already visible on its once-new metalic surface. I came to have a special kind of appreciation for the Focus, after all, I was learning to drive in it and for that reason we shared an inexblicable bond. I trusted her and she trusted me. But as more time passed and I recieved my license, what I had been hearing for past months became a reality: that the Focus was a trainer-car, a warm-up, and that now it was time for the big leagues. It was time for a real kick-ass car. In short, it was time for me to acquire the Escape. I lamented my parting with the trusty Focus, but as soon as I pressed on the accelerator in the Escape, as soon as I gripped the sleek, slightly cushioned and specially gripped wheel, I knew this car fit me. Summer would be great, I told myself. I pictured the windows down as warm air whipped into the chamber of the spacious Escape. I pictured myself driving down Farm Road, hair gently blowing, donning sunglasses. I would drive this car everywhere: to Waveny for Cross Country practice, to friends' houses for 'get togethers', to school and back. I smiled pleasantly at the vision of my red car, sparkling in the sunlight, nimble and fast.
As time continued to tick by, my dreams came true. My car became part of my identity, as most all people's cars do. I was the Cross Country captain with the red Escape, that could fit four more people to drive to that team-dinner. I was the earlybird who came to school at 7:00 to secure the perfect parking spot. I was the Lost District driver of the Red Escape and they all knew me as such. The car, I will say again, fit me. It was, is, the perfect blend of sensibility with sportiness, with a hint of feminine flare. Of course, it adapts to its driver like a chamelion; I've seen my brother drive it and it reeked of badass masculine power, though subtle power, one that you might expect from a lean runner of 19. I got used to the stereo buttons; I perfected the drive-while-switching-CDs-and-turning-up-the-volume method. I know the heat dials, I know the defrost, I know the AC. I know where to position the point of my right index finger so that I might skip to the next song without ever taking my eyes off the road. I've driven through sheets of rain, clouds of fog, the intimidating darkness of night, and the light of early morning. I know how to work the windshield wipers, the lights, the list goes on. Most of all, I have mastered the driving on this vehicle. I know how much ressure to apply to release from the accelerator and I have been able to consistently perform "gentle stops". My car doesn't jerk. Every turn is fluid, every corner, smooth.
Let's cut to the chase. Tonight I was informed that my beloved baby, my harmonious companion of barely five months (not even!) was being taken from me. The Escape, My Escape, was being given to Julia, my sister, to take to Virginia for God knows what reasons. The reasons are as insignificant as my futile attempt to thwart defeat. Julia has already had her chance at it, her senior year was unbombarded my bogus claims of "ski-trips". She got to relish in the glory of the Escape, long before I had the chance. But her time with it wasn't enough, she was greedy. She had to have more. She was fed up with the Focus, the poor dejected Focus, and demanded My Escape.
In its peak of usefulness, on the cusp of winter, my car will be taken from me. I will never see its four-wheel drive capabilities. I will not get to whip it into a parking spot at NCHS anymore (a skill that took me months to master; I would come early to school unbeknownst to my family and friends, and would practice -discreetly- parking in the NCHS slots. They are wider, you see, and must be dealt with differently from the average parking slot. Anyway, I finally am able to park My Escape dead center in one of these spots, but now, it is of no consequence). I will never get to pull it into the garage again, another task I practiced. Her gentle wheel and greedy roar- her signal that she is eager to soar over pavement- will never again grace my lonely soul.
I will be stuck- no, wedged- into the Focus. My head hits the ceiling, you know. Every time I get in it, I reach in the wrong spot for the gear shifter. I can't find the lights. My bearings are off and to be frank, it's dangerous trying to familiarize yourself to a car while driving it (CD changing was an absolute DISASTER yesterday). I don't know what to do. My words have fallen, quite plainly, on deaf ears: my protests and flawless reasoning ingnored.
I told my mom I wanted the car because it drives more safely in the snow. It does handle better in the snow than the Focus, on account of its four-wheel drive, but that wasn't the first reason I wanted to keep it. I wanted to keep it because it's part of my identity now. We, as people, are constantly trying to find our own identities, and this was that one crucial aspect that has given me confidence in myself. It sounds dramatic and silly, but it has. Will I be the same person without my car? Of course. Mostly. But something is missing now. Now I'm just the run-of-the-mill silver sedan wannabe. I'm boring and businesslike. My adventurous, excited spirit is trapped somewhere in the innerworkings of the Escape, and they can't escape because I can't escape this nightmatish excuse for a suitable automobile.