While my family waited patiently for my dad to pull his well-kept car out of the garage, my mom came over and adjusted my bow tie. The pent-up excitement of going to my cousin’s Bar Mitzvah, mixed with my exhaustion from being up so early, made me impatient to finally sit down and relax, yet I would be forced to wait a while. Once my dad pulled his white Range Rover Sport out of the garage, he grabbed an orange rag and began to wipe down each seat. Even in his dress clothes, my father never failed to strive for perfection. After he finished that task, he grabbed a second rag, some water, and then he thoroughly cleaned all the windows and mirrors on the car’s white exterior. This systematic process took about ten minutes, and every time we took his car, my mom made the same comment, “Why didn’t you do this the night before?” but he never listened.  

As I sat down in his freshly cleaned car, I inhaled deeply. The familiar smell induced a wave of relaxation and nostalgia, as my mind began to flood with all the memories of past road trips with my family. As I relaxed further into the seat, which over time had been molded to the shape of my body, I brushed against my little brother’s suit jacket. He was stuffed in between my sister and me. Soon after we began the lengthy drive to Long Island, I started singing along to the faint sound of Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” in the background; my mom took this as a hint to increase the volume. During the ride, that very same album replayed three times, yet I sang along to every song as if I had not heard them in years.  

In my mind, my dad’s car was the jewel in our family’s crown, not because it was the newest or fanciest, but because these memories were held within it. As I grew older, I wanted to take it everywhere, just so I could experience that indescribable feeling, and so we did. We began driving the car on short weekend trips, to school, to work, and almost anywhere, even when the entire family was not together. A collection of changes, which derived from driving it more, shortly led to a complete shift in perspective.  

The once spotless seats began to miss my father’s rag, as he slowly stopped cleaning them the more we drove the car. A quick press of a button, which expelled windshield washer fluid, was sufficient enough to clean the windows. The novelty faded, along with the systematic steps he used to pour into his cleaning process. The once- jammed backseat, filled with laughter and singing, was now spacious, with my sister in college. The overplayed Adele album was soon replaced with staticky satellite radio. The calming aroma that had filled my nose faded away, and I was no longer reminded of those family road trips and memories we once shared. My dad’s car was now just a car. I longed for that fading indescribable feeling. 

We still kept our family traditions, eating dinner together and spending weekends with each other, but I felt far away from those warm family memories. The fabric of our family was still strong, but the individual strings which wove us together had started to come undone. Isolating myself in my room became normal for me, and the gap between us continued to widen. I started to rely on my friends for advice, but I missed the comfort that only my family could provide.  

While I waited for the rest of my family in the chilly car, I rolled down my window to get rid of the frost that had accumulated overnight. As we began the drive to bring my sister back to college, sounds of music faded away, as the static from the poor radio signal overpowered it. When I looked around, everyone in the packed car seemed bothered by it. As it seemed fitting, I told my mom to put our Adele album in the CD player. Although it had been played countless times, as my mom touched the rims of the disk, the underside shone like new and was free of scratches. From the moment she placed the CD in the player, to the second we arrived at my sister’s college, my entire family sang every song, word for word. That indescribable feeling returned, but this time, I was able to place my finger on its source. It was not the clean seats, the scent, the music, nor the car in its entirety, it was the irreplaceable comfort of togetherness, of family.