|my library challenge submission
||[Sep. 20th, 2007|04:16 pm]
Me and my friends were talking about cars one day. That brought up a bunch of old memories of our old rusty car. I remember sitting in the gray car with dad. Our countless trips to school. He often made me late for school. "It was the cars fault. It's old and rusty. It backfires on the high way. When you go to put on the breaks, it stalls a few feet before the light." That didn't help much in getting me out of detention. All the principal said was "Please get your car checked out." Dad refused to get Old Rusty checked out. It was a perfect car. I kept hammering him about the breaks. It took a lot of persuation(sp?) until he fixed the breaks. "What about a paint job dad? To hide the rust and junk?" I asked hoping to change his mind. He shook his head no. "I'm sorry darling, but the car is like a son to me." He charrished that car, called it his own, took very good care of it. He even washed it once a week, even in the bitter cold. There was one thing that to do; he refused to cover up the rust, and deformed colors that formed on the car over time. He always said "Those deformed colors are a symbol of aging. You see we are all going to have deformed colors some day darling." That made me want to hurl, but I knew what he meant. He and that car were tight. They held a special bond. They knew how to tick each other off. Whenever the car would start to back fire, curse words would fly from dad's mouth. I've witnessed it. "Don't you ******* start on me now!" With a pat on the dash board, the car was good to go. They reminded me of an old married couple. Always bickering and what not. Yes dad loved that old rusty car. |
Years later old pictures of dad sat on our book shelf. Dad had passed away and wanted me to have the pictures, to remind me of everything we shared with the car. Most importantly he wanted me to remember how much that car was rusty. Every time I see an old rusty car, I think of dad and his rusty car. I never look at rusty cars the same way.