Car

My Dad's Car

My dad’s car

 

 

I still remember when my dad bought the perfect car; it was a Neon SRT-4 one of the first “street racing cars”, I was a little boy and I loved that car, every day I got up in the morning very happy even if I had school that day just to see it, I went to classes and couldn’t concentrate on what the teacher was saying because I was thinking on going to the drag races with my dad, the best moment of the day was when my parents picked me up from school with the car, I felt very good and I was a little egocentric so I bragged about it to my classmates. My dad used to ask my every year what I wanted for my birthday, and every year I had the same answer… I want the Neon, but he just told me that I was going to get it when I got old enough to drive it.  When my dad and I went to the track races I liked to be on the pits zone where there was a strong smell of burnt tires and excitement waiting for my dad´s turn on the track, the only problem was the strong noise coming from the big engines and the tires sliding on the ground, they were so loud that my friends had to pull me back from there so I didn´t burst one of my eardrums, but I didn´t want to back up because I was always checking the stopwatch to see how much time it took the Neon to get through the quarter mile, it was one of the fastest cars in those racetracks and people there knew it and called it “Starman” so they were always recording it and seeing how my dad let his opponent eating dust, he would come back to the pits and at that moment it was as if time stopped and I was there watching my father, being so proud of him because he didn´t send his car to the workshop to be modified by professionals, no, he did it all himself, every pipe change, every muffler, every screw... my dad and that car were inseparable that is why I wanted it so badly, to be like him and to continue his legacy in the track or on the road.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is the story about my dad's car and how I was proud of him.

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My Friend's Car Collection

My friend was always very passionate about cars. He could go on for hours talking about them, the shape, size, color and all other contents that it had. He spoke of a car like a husband should speak of his wife, he took care of his cars like a doctor should care for his patients, but he never drove them. He loved the cars interior and exterior beauty and knew the model, brand and year of each one he owned. His collection consisted of more then 100 cars and it kept growing with each passing year. Each time he lay eyes on a car he liked he would go ahead and admire it, then his feelings would change and he would want to own that car, possess it, and eventually he would go ahead and look for it, and buy it.

 He was very proud of his collection, always showing It to visitors when they arrived at his house, you could say it was his most prized possession and he loved his cars as if they were his children. Each morning he rose alongside the sun and checked that they were dust free and impeccable; they had to be presentable at all times of the day, you could never know when they would be seen. Of course, he loved all his cars, but amongst his collection, he had his favorite. The car that held the most special place in his collection, in the very center, with a huge spotlight making it shine above all else, was a ’69 Mustang Shelby, wearing all black with two red stripes cutting it right through the middle. This car to the common spectator, was not that impressive and definitely not the best in his collection, we all have different opinions. But it held a special place in my friend’s heart as it had belonged to his grandfather. That same car had been passed down from father to son, until it was finally his. The special significance this car had to him was impressive, sometimes we believed he loved that old, black car even more than his own family. 

Years passed and his ever-growing collection, suddenly stopped growing.  Time went by and the cars started to gather dust. You see, people change and their interests not always remain the same. And his most valued collection soon became meaningless. For in the end all you could see of his once impressive collection, were shelves and shelves of little, toy cars.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

PV

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Car Keys

Folder: 
Beauty

 

There they sit

At the edge of the table

Worn and heavy

Resting in fables

 

Tales of adventure

Of sweet smelling summer

And self-discovery roads

Planted in autumns comer

 

Roads connecting

To everything and everyone

That’s touched my life

And left the sun

 

Of star seeking nights

That stain that back of eyes

Of heart clenching moments

Lost in music, so high

 

These keys to life

Life’s twisted streets

Bring me back home

To dust my feet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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LOOKED LIKE RAIN

Someone special Della’s
mother told her. A Downs
with a lovely smile and
bright, slightly narrow eyes.

 

She had waited outside
the school grounds when
her mother drove up.

 

Sorry I’m late, her mother
said, got caught in the traffic.

Della frowned, her tongue
sitting on her lower lip.

 

Man said you sent him,
Della said. What man?
Man in a car. What man
in a car? Della looked at
her mother, puzzled.

 

Man in the car. What did
he say? Said you sent him
to pick me up. Called me
Dearie. But I’m Della.

 

Her mother got out of the
car and went and knelt
down beside her daughter.

 

You didn’t get in the car did you?
No he drove off fast when
Mrs Penbridge came over.

 

He said I was Dearie, but
I’m Della. Yes, you are. Not
Dearie. No not Dearie.

 

He smiled at me. You mustn’t
get in to a stranger’s car
unless I tell you it’s all right.

 

I didn’t get in. Good. He
drove off, Della said, lowering
her eyes to her new shoes.

 

He smiled. Yes, but that
doesn’t mean he was nice.

He seemed nice. Yes, but
men like that aren’t. Why?
Della looked at her mother.

 

Because he may have hurt you.
Why would he hurt me, I’m
special. Yes, you are special.

 

You are angry with me. No,
not with you. You’ve got
your angry voice. Not with
you. Seems angry with me.

 

Not you, the man. Why are
you angry with the man?
Because he may have taken
you away from me. Della
looked at her mother’s hair,
newly done. Where? Where
would he have taken me?

 

Away from me. Why?
Because he’s bad. Her
mother held Della to her
tightly. He didn’t look bad,
he had a nice smile. Nice
car, too. Blue. Nice blue.
Like a summer sky blue.

 

Never get in a stranger’s car.
Never. You are angry. Not
with you. Sounds angry.

 

But not with you. Not
with me? No, you are
special. Special. Yes.

Very special? Yes, very
special. Not to get in a
stranger’s car? No. Not in
a stranger’s car. I got in
your friend’s car the other day.

 

What friend? The man who
brings your groceries and
you and he talk and he makes
you laugh. Her mother stared.

 

When did you get in his car?
The other day. Why did you
get in his car? He said, you said.
Did he drive off with you? Yes.

The mother held Della out in
front of her. Where to? We
went to look at the ducks in
the pond. Why did you get
in the car? He said, you said.

 

But I didn’t tell him that.
He said, you said. Did he
touch you? Touch me? Did
he touch you anywhere?

 

He held my hand to go to
the ducks. Anywhere else?
He said I was special. You
are. Did he touch you anywhere?  

 

My hand. Anywhere else?

No. Just my hand to feed
the ducks. What happened
after you saw the ducks?

 

He said I was special. Where
did he drive you? I thought
Mrs Rice was going to pick
you up that day? I went
with your friend. Did he
touch you? He held my hand.

 

Anywhere else? Della shook
her head. He said I was pretty
and had nice legs. Her mother’s
heart thumped. Am I pretty?

 

Yes you are, but he shouldn’t
have said so. Why not? He
didn’t mean it nicely. Why?

Because he shouldn’t tell
you that. Why? Because he’s
no right to say you’re pretty.

 

You say I’m pretty. I love you.
He said I was pretty and had
nice legs. Did he touch your legs?
No he just looked at them.
Nice legs he said and nice eyes.

 

Have I got nice legs and eyes?
Yes you have but he shouldn’t
say so. You’re angry again.

 

Not with you. Seems like me.

It’s not. Seems like. I’m not.
Seems like. Never get in his
car again. Della looked at
the sky. I won’t. It looked like rain.

 
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The Passing On

As I cracked the window,

The aroma of honeysuckle filled the car,

And I drove beyond the lake,

Down the winding road and past the old barn,

And before I reached the driveway,

I could smell the lilac bushes in your yard.

Opening the front door my perception shifts

Into a world long forgotten,

And though in the past,

So very present as I stood alone,

There in the stillness,

Waiting for the future to unfold

At my command,

Quenching my lust for suspense,

The silence shaken abruptly.

I turned to look, gasping…grasping for,

Reality, was peering through the glass

As the funeral car pulls in the drive,

And the memory of one so dear…stays alive.

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Mr Monopoly

Hat, Shoe, Dog and Car eagerly await
All hoping to gain estate
Bankers investing in them all
But some will rise and some will fall

Six to start, and off they go
Estates beginning to grow
Pieces moving round the board
Land bought and money stored

Hats at auction, deed on the line
Dogs feeling rich of cloud nine
Shoes at GO, a loans on his mind
Pall Mall's just needs to be signed

Super Tax is up
But he's out of a buck
Shoes players money's fading
His end game is waining

Tax evasion, cops are chasing
Shoes heart is racing
Get out of jails run out
The cops will get him no doubt

Who will be next to meet their fate
Fates about to have one big spate
Dogs player was on cloud nine
But his accounts now make him whine

Dogs cheques are blank
His life was so swank
Now he's on the streets
Sleeping under some sheets

Hat and Car still in the race
Both keeping up the pace
We all know that only one can win
Only one can wear the winners pin

Hat and Car, like tortoise and hare
Off to meet, Mr Monopoly, Mayor
Cars told that he's too far gone.
Leaving Car, MVP, number 1

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