Kaitlin Crawford~

“My other ride is a horse,” but instead of the word there is a silhouette of one.  The sticker sits crooked on the back bumper of a 2000 GMC Sierra. The old burgundy truck is still in good condition. Even with the chipped paint around the backlight, remnants of a collision I had gotten into at the high school parking lot. Dad had paid for the repairs, but years hadn’t been good to the old wound. Luckily for me that had been my only incident in the old Burg. I inspected a few dings on the sides from other thoughtless drivers.

Opening the door I was assaulted by the smell of an old habit. The cigarette smoke from my adolescent years was still pungent after four years of a smoke free environment. The seat was adjusted just right, high and a good distance from the pedal. It still needed to be cleaned, but I wasn’t going to be the one to do it. With difficulty I removed the tassel from high school graduation. The silver ’07 had mysteriously disappeared a year after graduation. The yellow and blue strings had stayed well intact. Even with my crazy driving the strings hadn’t entangled.

Throwing the tassel into a Target bag, I collected some old CDs from the arm console; The All American-Rejects second album, a burned CD of my favorite songs by Taylor Swift, and The Very Best of Sheryl Crow. I was a little disappointed with the load I had emptied out from the Burg. I added a couple of sunglasses from the glove compartment and a dollar seventy eight in change found underneath the seats. In a generous mood I had collected my trash and vacuumed out the truck. I wiped the windows down with Windex, as close as I was getting to actually washing the old Burg.

I waited patiently inside the Burg, thinking back to five years ago when I drove my friends to and from school. Nostalgia came over me as I heard the roaring of a school bus coming up the road. Patiently watching as the bus slowed. My eyes following him as he made his way down the aisle, then losing sight of him as he walked off the bus. He was wearing an old blue Hollister shirt, or maybe it was just made to look old like the jeans.  I left the truck when the bus stopped and held my arms open. I hadn’t been home in a couple of years and was expecting an overjoyed reunion with my baby brother. His stride was purposefully slow, only quickening with the bus’ distance. When the yellow monstrosity was out of sight he took two quick steps and wrapped his arms around me. “When did you get back?”

“Today.” I managed to say into his chest. He’d grown since our last embrace.

He pulled away from me with a smirk on his face. “Why’d you bring the rust bucket? Ow!” When I slapped his arm, it felt different, more muscular and lean. When did he lose the baby fat?

“Don’t talk about the Burg that way!” I playfully scowled at him. Giddiness started to bubble in my stomach as I watched the realization spread onto his face. I now noticed the slight stubble on his jaw line and upper lip. He’d grown up a lot in the past year.

“No way?”

“All yours.” I said, dangling the keys in front of his face. He grabbed the keys from my hand and immediately started stalking his territory, inspecting it as I had an hour ago. “I remember when you could barely reach those pedals. Do you think you can reach them now?” Laughing when he shot me a look over the steering wheel  as he adjusted the seat and mirrors to his liking.  ”Goodbye.” I whispered to the Burg and to the memory of the little boy who couldn’t even reach its pedals.

Kaitlin Crawford~

“My other ride is a horse,” but instead of the word there is a silhouette of one.  The sticker sits crooked on the back bumper of a 2000 GMC Sierra. The old burgundy truck is still in good condition. Even with the chipped paint around the backlight, remnants of a collision I had gotten into at the high school parking lot. Dad had paid for the repairs, but years hadn’t been good to the old wound. Luckily for me that had been my only incident in the old Burg. I inspected a few dings on the sides from other thoughtless drivers.

Opening the door I was assaulted by the smell of an old habit. The cigarette smoke from my adolescent years was still pungent after four years of a smoke free environment. The seat was adjusted just right, high and a good distance from the pedal. It still needed to be cleaned, but I wasn’t going to be the one to do it. With difficulty I removed the tassel from high school graduation. The silver ’07 had mysteriously disappeared a year after graduation. The yellow and blue strings had stayed well intact. Even with my crazy driving the strings hadn’t entangled.

Throwing the tassel into a Target bag, I collected some old CDs from the arm console; The All American-Rejects second album, a burned CD of my favorite songs by Taylor Swift, and The Very Best of Sheryl Crow. I was a little disappointed with the load I had emptied out from the Burg. I added a couple of sunglasses from the glove compartment and a dollar seventy eight in change found underneath the seats. In a generous mood I had collected my trash and vacuumed out the truck. I wiped the windows down with Windex, as close as I was getting to actually washing the truck.

I waited patiently inside the Burg, thinking back to five years ago when I drove my friends to and from school. Nostalgia came over me as I heard the roaring of a school bus coming up the road. Patiently watching as the bus slowed. My eyes following him as he made his way down the aisle, then losing sight of him as he walked off the bus. I had left the truck when the bus stopped and held my arms open. I hadn’t been home in a couple of years and was expecting an overjoyed reunion with my baby brother. His stride was purposefully slow, only quickening with the bus’ distance. When the yellow monstrosity was out of sight he took two quick steps and wrapped his arms around me. “When did you get back?”

“Today.” I managed to say into his chest.

He pulled away from me with a smirk on his face. “Why’d you bring the rust bucket? Ow!”

“Don’t talk about the Burg that way!” I playfully scowled at him. Giddiness started to bubble in my stomach as I watched the realization spread onto his face.

“No way?”

“All yours.” I said, dangling the keys in front of his face.

My eyes lock with your’s as I pass you,
Making sure you keep your distance
I still see you in the rearview mirror
Watching me as I watch you.

Around the  turn and you’re out of my sight
No longer any of my concern,
But I shortly think of you again, coming down a hill
Lying next to the road, your  mate.

~Kaitlin Crawford

A blue tarp once hung protectively,
Now drapes shamefully over a car’s skeleton.
The Buick, The Cadillac, and the old Packard

Hide behind the red fence now green with ivy,
Dreaming of their days on the road.
The weeds have grown

Into shackles around their tires
One car sits away from the pack
Daring to peek around the fence’s corner

In hopes to get the first glimpsing return
Of its owner.
A little black corvette

Dwarfed by its companions
And younger in years
The black Fiat.

 Kaitlin Crawford