Treehouse: Jeep That Got Away
From Graduation to Repossession
You know that feeling when someone you care about finally gets the one thing they’ve been dreaming about? Yeah, she had that. For like, three weeks.
Growing up in Malibu is like living in a postcard that everyone assumes comes with a trust fund. Yeah, the beaches are perfect and the sunsets look like they've been Photoshopped by God himself, but what people don't see is the weird contrast of it all—million-dollar homes next to kids working three jobs just to keep up appearances, influencers filming their "authentic" lives while locals are just trying to get to school without getting stuck behind a tour bus on PCH.
My girlfriend graduated high school last June, and I’m not gonna lie—watching her walk across that stage, I felt like I was on top of the world too. Cap, gown, the whole thing. But the real celebration for her wasn’t the diploma. It was what she’d been saving for since she was fourteen. Every birthday, every holiday, every “here’s twenty bucks for babysitting”—she stashed it. She had this vision, right? A Jeep. Not just any Jeep, but the Jeep. The one that would take her to commercial auditions across the city, top down, music up, living her best life.
And she did it. She actually did it. Walked into that dealership with her savings and drove out in her dream car. I remember her calling me from the parking lot, practically crying. This was it. This was freedom. This was her ticket to making it.
Three weeks later, someone stole her spare tire.
I mean, who does that? Who looks at a Jeep and thinks, “You know what I need today? That spare tire on the back.” But whatever, right? She got it replaced. Annoying, but not the end of the world. She’s a graduate now—she can handle this adult stuff. That’s what she kept telling herself.
Then they stole it again.
At that point, she didn’t even get mad. She just laughed. Like, what are the odds? She got it replaced again, shook her head, and moved on. She had auditions to get to. She had a life to build. I tried to help her see it was weird, but she was so focused on staying positive.
But then things started getting weird.
Her payments became… complicated. I don’t even know how to explain it. She’d been so careful with her budget, but suddenly she’s getting notices, fees she didn’t understand, late charges that didn’t make sense. And then—boom—suspended license. Something about unpaid fines she never even knew existed.
Here’s where it gets really messed up. She’s a church girl, okay? Every Sunday, she’s there. It’s her thing. It centers her, especially with all the rejection that comes with auditioning. And she started noticing people watching her. Not in a paranoid way, but like… actually watching. She’d walk out after service, feeling good, feeling blessed, praising the Lord, and there’d be a ticket on her windshield.
Every. Single. Sunday.
Parking tickets. Street cleaning tickets. Tickets for violations she didn’t commit, in places she wasn’t even parked illegally. It was like someone was staging them. I know how that sounds—I know—but I’m telling you, something wasn’t right. I saw it happening. The tickets piled up. She couldn’t keep up. We tried to fight them together, but have you ever tried to fight a parking ticket when you’re eighteen and broke? It’s impossible.
License suspended. Again. For real this time.
She kept the Jeep parked after that. Couldn’t risk driving it. Couldn’t afford to fix any of this. The dream of driving to auditions? Gone. She was back to bumming rides, taking buses, showing up to cattle calls looking tired and defeated. I drove her when I could, but I had my own stuff going on. I watched her spirit break a little more each day.
One morning, she called me crying. It was gone.
Just… gone. Empty spot where her Jeep used to be. She stood there thinking maybe she was still asleep. Maybe this was a nightmare. But no. Repossessed. Some tow truck came in the night and took the one thing she worked four years to get.
She’s a high school graduate with no car, no license, and no idea how she’s supposed to make it to the life she’s been dreaming about.
Four years of her saving. Three weeks of happiness. And now she’s right back where she started—except somehow, she’s even further behind.