Leaving my driveway for the first time in the 4,600-pound car, I never realized how important that car would mean to me and all my friends who would get to ride in it. My 2002 Dodge Durango was the perfect vehicle for transporting my group of eight friends around. It could carry everyone in it with enough space to not feel squished. Roaring through the streets, driving Highway 17 to Santa Cruz, relaxing in the leather seats on a cold rainy day—there was nothing the car couldn’t do. Although unnamed, the car provided countless memories that will never leave my mind. However, when flying too close to the sun, one will get burnt. Taking the 20-year-old car up Highway 17 took quite a toll on it every time I would go, and eventually, the old car just could not handle the heat. Going up the highway, the Durango met its end as my friends, and I traveled near Summit Road, and the engine bay released as much smoke as a single engine could produce. In a panic, I pulled onto Summit, and everyone in the car jumped out. After the smoke stopped erupting from the engine bay, we opened the hood to have more smoke blow into our faces. After hours of panic and desperation, we found the problem. The power steering fluid cap had fallen off, and all of the fluid had spilled out onto the engine. With a stupid heart, I decided that after having a friend retrieve a new cap, I would drive the Durango back home in a desperate attempt to save one of my most precious possessions. However, after making it halfway home, the car simply gave out and did not run any longer. My mom picked me up and after days of deliberation, we agreed to donate the Durango for a small sum of cash. A week later, during a family get-together, the Durango was taken without even a simple notice. Forever gone but never forgotten, the memories I made in the Durango will always live in my mind, and hopefully, someday in the future when I am old and retired, I will be able to travel in a Durango once again.