I can smell it, can’t you?
I can hear it running, what a great sound.
I can feel her on the road bouncing along.
I stopped to look.
It’s as it was then, not restored as much as kept alive all thes years (87 years).
My father had a coupe that I remember when I went with him to vaccinate pigs outside the little town of Coleridge, Nebraska in 1949. He was a veterinarian.
I remember where he sat and where I sat. I smell his pipe smoke and the cars gas smell.
I remember him talking with me and the sound of the little engine.
I remember feeling proud of him and me going with him and the vibration of the car on the road.
I have yearned for this car, and for him.
He committed suicide 64 years ago when he was just 37.
He left me and my brothers and sisters alone and my mother tasked with raising us.
There is a lot of sensory memories locked up in that car.
I need to unlock it and take it for a drive.
– Small town boy