PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

My grandfather had this old black Chevy Malibu since I can remember. The Malibu is astonishingly old; it has a little bit of rust on the top, the upholstery is damaged and falling from the ceiling and the sides, oh and those damn buttons in the radio are really worn down; I remember one is missing, the sides of the outside have paint falling from all the years the Malibu had. I would go as a child outside to play in the road that didn’t had too many cars, and the Malibu would always be there, basking a little bit of sun and bathing with a little bit of leaves from the trees. No matter what, there it was, it was something impressive to see. The thing is that my grandfather didn’t go out a lot, so the Malibu was always there, accumulating the beautiful leaves of autumn in the windshield and in between the wheels, getting little droplets of water from the humidity in the road when it rained hard, becoming a cooking pan from the heat of the summer and yes, also accumulating all birds doodoo (at least everything was cleaned before he used the car). But that Malibu has something special, my grandfather almost never went out in his Malibu, but when he did, it was usually something special, so that car has some good memories in it. My grandfather took me to the barbershop and we would get a haircut done. He would also take me to the Santa Catarina river when it rained so I could see all the fish and try to catch some. He also went out to meet with friends and have coffee. There were some weird days, were he would need to use the car to do important stuff, and when I happened to walk outside I would feel it, that weird “this doesn’t happen often” feeling. It felt as if something was missing, and there, I could see almost the silhouette of the Malibu. My grandfather loved that Malibu, and he always refused to sell it, if it had problems with it he would always send it to repair. He wasn’t the best driver, but he enjoyed going in a ride every now and then. The car is still outside, and might not always be taken on to a ride, but every time I turn my view to the road, and see that old, rusty and dusty Malibu, a smile runs through my face, remembering the times and memories with my grandfather.