The Ride


When I enter my backyard through the side gate, I look to my left. I see my car

under the basketball hoop, surrounded by white sugarsand that is in turn covered in

little patches that are the burrows of sand lions. There it is, my brown beauty, the car to

beat all cars, a true sports car. The line of the body starts from a flat rear end and

inches its way up the hatchback. The line creeps its way over the roof to the sudden

drop that is the windshield. The flow of the line runs down the hood with recessed

headlights and extends for another 6 feet.

The view of this masterpiece of engineering makes me want to drop my jaw in

wonder that such a creation could be mass produced for thousands of others to

cherish. The only thing that stops me from dropping my jaw is the faded brown paint,

pink bondo near the driver’s side door and small patches of rust on the passenger’s

side and driver’s side quarter panel. As I see the car, I can’t wait to get in it and drive.

As soon as I enter the car and sit down, I feel myself relax and unwind from the

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day, yet a minuscule feeling of excitement grows in the back of my mind. The relaxation

comes from the knowledge that anything that happens in this car is in my control.

Anything that I want the car to do, I can try it and that makes me release all of the

stress that accumulated during the week. The excitement is growing from the knowledge

that the immense power of the car’s inline six cylinder engine will be at my command. I

stare off past the brown dashboard for a moment to see the tan first story of my home

and the black window leading to the lower living room. The view makes me feel the

anticipation of the upcoming experience. The continued feeling of relaxation hides the

rising feeling of excitement when I insert the key into the ignition.

I turn the key in the ignition and listen to the car rumble to life. I push in the

clutch and shift into first gear. I can feel the raw power of the engine roaring through

me.  I let up the clutch slowly and feel the excitement rise as I let the car slowly push  

itself from the sugarsand. I turn sharply to the right and down my mulch driveway to the

private road of my community. I slowly meander down the blacktop, past the large oak

trees that make my neighborhood seem friendly, and past the houses that were so non

chalantly thrown there to desecrate the forest that once stood there. The whole way out

of the complex I feel relaxed, but the feeling of excitement grows as I near the exit. As I

turn left onto Gunn highway I push the accelerator to the floor and watch the RPM’s

grow higher and higher; I shift from second to third and fourth, waiting for the exact

moment to shift to fifth. The excitement emanates from me as I feel the cool air flow

through my window and through my hair. My back presses into the soft yet torn seats

as I accelerate faster and faster. The dark streets light from the glow of my headlights.

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The surrounding roadside fly by as I catch glimpses of trees, horses, houses and street

lamps. The sights make me almost giddy, but I know that I must return home and not

just cruise forever down the road that seems almost alive as it tries to kick me from its

surface. I slow the car and turn around. I return more slowly than I came, calming

myself the whole way back.

As I drive slowly back down the mulch driveway and turn sharply to the left into

the sugarsand, the feeling of excitement is again in the background. The torn seats look

almost forlorn as they form themselves back to their original shape. When I leave my

place of relaxation and excitement, I remember my duties and responsibilities of home,

work and school. I know that I must do as I can to make all of the places I go and all of

the things I do become special, but no place will ever be as special or perfect as being

in my car as it flies down the strips of concrete and tar that we call roads. It may not be

the same with other peoples’ favorite places, or maybe not even close to the feelings

that their favorite place inspires, but I guess that makes my place just a little more


Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is about my old Nissan 280ZX. It was mah baby...

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