Prompt: First Car

Photo by Randy Laybourne on Unsplash‍ ‍

Karmann Ghia*

The one he gave me my senior year in high school. It could barely be thought of as a real vehicle with an actual engine. More of an ephemeral dream of a car. Pale cream and graceful. Its lines like the curve of a field covered in frost.

Working at Howard Johnson’s shoveling ice cream. Not yet eighteen. Not quite awake. But eager. I recall ending a Friday night shift and heading to a party. Winter. In Virginia. Not quite a winter. The snow just a thin coating. The engine tentative. I could goose the carburetor myself by lifting the car’s little breadbox lid and twiddling a knob. A put-put-put start. Not quite window wipers. Not quite a heater. Not quite a driver yet. Peering through the foggy frosty arc of the windshield. Headlights barely illuminating the road. Not quite a radio. Not quite a song. Crackling. Crackling. Fuzzy. Fuzzy. What lay ahead? What of that night? What of my life? Why? Where? When? Not quite a woman. Waaaay not a woman! So long ago now. Gregg Allman’s tinny tiny voice on the not quite radio: “Not gonna let ‘em catch the midnight rider.”

*my first (very, very, very used) car, a gift from my grandfather