Dream Car

I came downstairs to the call of my mother. The wind burst through the front door as my toes hit the icy pavement of our front porch. I looked down, exasperated that I forgotten to put on socks. Lots of things were going on that day and I couldn’t understand why my mother called me downstairs into this unbelievably cold weather when she knew I had homework to finish.

“Well what do you think?” she asked. Looking up from my icicle toes, I stared into the face of perfection. There, looking back at me in all of its light blue glory, was a 74’ Ford Bronco. I had wanted that car since I was in third grade and there it was staring back at me in my driveway. MY driveway!

“We are just trying it out to see if you like it,” My mom replied. I stared open mouthed. My mother must have been confused as to my expression, but I was too shocked and surprised to think, let alone speak. Upon obtaining my drivers license the week before and the feeling of freedom that comes with it, I was expecting my parents to show up with a shanty clunker of a car, dented into submission and beat into what could barely pass as a sad excuse for a vehicle. I was hardly expecting them to show up with my dream car, and yet there it was, patiently waiting for a pair of warm hands to grasp its steering wheel.

Most kids want cup holders and better speaker systems when they think of their dream cars but I have always dreamt of a Bronco. I loved it all- that satisfying clang of metal on metal when you slam the drivers door, the way the side mirrors creaked when adjusted correctly, even the beat up break lights and the radio equipped with static filled reception and a cassette player. It was perfect. Looking at that car was like that feeling when you unwrap christmas presents and you find something way more exciting than you ever expected.

Driving certainly took some getting used to, but within minutes steering that rustic car felt like second nature. It was like memorizing an equation- twist the key, pump the clutch, step hard on the gas, put it in reverse, ease onto the road and you’re golden. It was bumpy and loud and it fit. In the crazy world of driving it’s nice to know that you have something to rely on, something that’s seen the world as much as the Bronco has.

The car would stoically, almost protectively stand on the street on the right side of the driveway and would give last minute goodbyes or warm greetings to other cars entering or exiting the garage. I felt secure just knowing that it was there, outside my house, ready to be driven at any moment.

In the coming week, my mother discovered upon driving the Bronco that the break lights were failing. We had all ready been having trouble with the air conditioning fluid leaking so this new break light fiasco had my parents on edge. As the days flew by I heard words like “impractical”, “costly”, and “break light replacement” fly around my house multiple times. Cold hard facts started to cumulate about the Bronco- like the fact that it did not contain air bags or that it only got eight miles to the gallon. It seemed the Bronco wasn’t as invincible as I thought it to be.

“Maybe this isn’t the right fit for you,” I heard over and over again. The facts were leering at me but I didn’t want to give up hope on the Bronco. Why would my parents allow me to drive a car that they believed to not be safe? Why would they tease me with something I’ve yearned for and then take it away? With a lead heart and sadness in hand I took the Bronco on its last voyage back to the owner. Driving away felt like that feeling when you know you’re forgetting something but you don’t know what.

Emptiness hurts. I kept on thinking, “Maybe when you’re older,” but what ever happened to living in the present? Maybe my Bronco obsession was just my teenage brain’s need for excitement. Maybe people just get fixated on things to keep themselves occupied. Who knows why the Bronco stepped into my life and stepped out again, but I do know that it was fun while it lasted. That’s life, right? You just have to remember to roll with the punches and make the good times last. I’m sad that the Bronco’s gone, but maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.