Fast Cars

Poppa said I can’t see him. Said I’m too young. So I am under the pagoda at the park, waiting for him away from the house, where Poppa can’t see.

I think it’s because he has a fast car, the real reason that Poppa won’t let me go with him. Daddy had a fast car once. I’ve seen pictures of it in “black and whites” of him and Momma when they were young, when they were my age, in fact, fifteen and sixteen.

I hear the fast car before I see it. It rumbles the pagoda beneath me. I can feel it in my chest, that rumble. It is frightening, and thrilling.

He pulls the car up over the curb, into the grass, pulling it up to the very steps of the pagoda. A hard, tanned arm reaches across to push open the door. “Come on!” He is smiling. It is a wild smile. He is a wild boy. I skitter down the steps and into the passenger seat. I am a wild girl.

The car smells of leather, gasoline and tobacco, of “boy things.” It smells like Poppa. The exhaust is strong. My head grows light until he pulls ever-so-gently off of the curb. and onto the pavement before accelerating onto the highway.

Momma is gone. I have left my little sister at my friend Celia's. I am only hoping that Caroline won’t mention it to Poppa. I have threatened her with death in fact, but she will probably tell anyways, at which point I will kill her, as promised. Caroline is five years old. Momma died when she was born. Caroline is my life, and my world. I won’t “really” kill her.

TJ is doing the 50 MPH speed limit, but the wind whips inside the car so that speaking is difficult. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I yell to him over the roars of engine and wind.

TJ smiles. “I can take you back.”

“No! I don’t want to go back! Say, I thought this car was supposed to be fast?”

TJ doesn’t look over at me this time. These are the exact words he has longed to hear. He pushes the accelerator closer to the floor. The Coupe did what it does. The rough, slower idle smooths out as firing pistons machine gun the car forward. Inertia pushes me back into my seat. I glance nervously at TJ. He is smiling, his eyes on the road, elbows bent, his left hand easy on the steering wheel. A glance at the speedometer shows 85 MPH. TJ looks over at me. I wish he would look at the road, instead. “You good,” he asks?

I give him my most wicked smile.

TJ slams the accelerator to the floor this time. I close my eyes and shout with delight, “WOOOOHOOOOOO!” It is like TJ is Aladdin, and we are on a magic ride. We fly over hills, butterflies tickling nervous stomachs that are never quite sure what is over the next rise. There is danger in the speed, and there is freedom in the danger. For the first time in my life there is no adult to tell me to slow down, no little sister crying beside me, calling my name. With closed eyes, hands gripping the dash, roaring engines and hot winds whirling around me I feel an exhiliration I have never experienced. I want to hold on to this feeling, this euphoria, forever. At this moment I do not even care if the car crashes. I do not care about anything but the thrill of being young, and unafraid. TJ is taking the sharpest turns at incredible speeds. I hold tight to the dash to keep from being thrown into his lap. Finally he lets off the throttle. I sense his body relaxing. His downshifting pushes me to the front of my seat. I remembered the same sensation, the same forgotten disappointment I had felt as a young girl when the carnival ride was winding down, the excitement ending, the ride over.

And there was something else building... an uncertainty. “What was this strange new yearning inside me? Was it the boy I wanted? Or was it his fast car?”