File #1081: "Mosaic_Spring_2004_3.jpg"
Description
My First Car-b-que
Ray Pike
There she was, my first car. The red-orange sunlight danced across the hood of that 1972 Ford Cortina as if it were her assembly-line grand debut. The early morning dew had given her a false shine that masked the fact that her faded light blue luster was only a ghostly hint of the deep sky blue color she sported in her prime. In the early morning glow, it was easy to overlook the skin cancer patches of light gray primer and the fenders that had been viciously gnawed around the edges by rust and decay. Looking beyond her superficial wounds, I could imagine my buddies and me piling in like circus clowns, ignoring the snickering and finger pointing, as we made our maiden voyage to high school.
The fresh smell of the crisp spring air soon gave way to the smell of burnt oil and dry-rotting rubber. A green Christmas tree shaped air freshener hung from the rearview mirror in defiance of the stench of cigarette smoke, assorted beverage mishaps, and mystery stains that left their mark on the upholstery like chalk outlines of murder victims at a crime scene.
"Today is the day!" I thought to myself as I inserted the key into the ignition. Suddenly it occurred to me, "Will it start? Will the months of scrounging for parts payoff? Will I be vindicated for the resurrection of this long forgotten relic from the automobile graveyard?”
I pumped the gas vigorously as I crossed my fingers and turned the key. "Wrrr wrrr-wrrr," the engine moaned, until she finally started. I revved the engine as if I had qualified for pole position at the Daytona 500. She coughed and belched up a cloud of smoke that could kill a swarm of locusts. I put the car in reverse
Ray Pike
There she was, my first car. The red-orange sunlight danced across the hood of that 1972 Ford Cortina as if it were her assembly-line grand debut. The early morning dew had given her a false shine that masked the fact that her faded light blue luster was only a ghostly hint of the deep sky blue color she sported in her prime. In the early morning glow, it was easy to overlook the skin cancer patches of light gray primer and the fenders that had been viciously gnawed around the edges by rust and decay. Looking beyond her superficial wounds, I could imagine my buddies and me piling in like circus clowns, ignoring the snickering and finger pointing, as we made our maiden voyage to high school.
The fresh smell of the crisp spring air soon gave way to the smell of burnt oil and dry-rotting rubber. A green Christmas tree shaped air freshener hung from the rearview mirror in defiance of the stench of cigarette smoke, assorted beverage mishaps, and mystery stains that left their mark on the upholstery like chalk outlines of murder victims at a crime scene.
"Today is the day!" I thought to myself as I inserted the key into the ignition. Suddenly it occurred to me, "Will it start? Will the months of scrounging for parts payoff? Will I be vindicated for the resurrection of this long forgotten relic from the automobile graveyard?”
I pumped the gas vigorously as I crossed my fingers and turned the key. "Wrrr wrrr-wrrr," the engine moaned, until she finally started. I revved the engine as if I had qualified for pole position at the Daytona 500. She coughed and belched up a cloud of smoke that could kill a swarm of locusts. I put the car in reverse