The Last Roadtrip

The Last Roadtrip

Call me Betty, I'm an old two tone turquoise cream colored 69 Classic Chevy convertible. I was full of secrets.

At the Police auction the Archer's had the winning bid and took me home. I was pleased that they were a family. My previous owners only took me on long errands and never in the same place twice. I was kept covered.

The Archers home was just south of the Canadian boarder. I loved them, they took me around town all the time. I was put in a garage many times but never felt I was embarrassing to them. Mr Archer cared for me, and I tried to be reliable for him. Often they talked of taking a road-trip into Canada. I dreamed of it. But as time passed I grew tired, rusting and knew my final time grew near. They hadn't called me by name in years. Then, while heading into town. Mrs. Archer expressed to Will (Mr. Archer) her concerns for an up coming trip and if I had enough in me to make it. Then the words fell out of his mouth an I nearly stalled.

“Maybe its time to consider getting a new car."

I asked myself, Why? I hadn't broken down, but Mrs. Archer was still talking, so I listened. At the light she indicated to Will a car which, newer, was “cute”. I glanced over to see a late model staring back at me, to say. “Hey Gramps”. Incensed, though I understood. I'd seen better days and maybe my time was nearing. As the day drew on, I may have understood the desire for a younger model but, I began to smolder over the shallowness of the desire. Had all the years of my service meant nothing to her. Will stood up for me but soon crumbled under her insistence.

What of all the trips to the school, shopping, work, not to mention the movies, friends houses and the hospital for both your childrens births. Aren't I a part of this family too?

As Mrs Archer continued to cite other vehicles she was partial to. Later, back at home I sulked most of that night. Weeks pasted and all seemed back to normal. Although I still kept all the new models that past by, in the corner of my eye. Then Will took me for a ride into the city. I felt as though I were about to soar when I turned into a car dealership. I choked, as he parked me in the front and met the salesman. I could hear nothing. He jumped into the car and didn't speak to me, and I brought him home. That night it became chilly.

The next morning, Sunday. Will came out to clean me, as he did every other weekend except, he began to empty me out. Is this how I go out? I hadn't taken any of the road trips. When I was empty he placed a travel bag in the back seat and left me to stew over it. I was committed to the idea that my life would end.

Several days passed and I sat. Then a new car pulled into the drive.
At first I thought, oh, a visitor, but I soon realized, My replacement had arrived. Cordially he sat there... and greeted me with his smooth running hum. I didn't respond. Will then came out, Jumped in me and checking my papers put them in an envelope. Then announcing, “Its time to go Betty.” It all seemed so, unfair. I was surprised as we approached the edge of town. My deepest fears were stirred, “The Junk yard.” A horrible fate as I would be crushed out of existence. But, as we came upon it, Will passed it by. We left town and headed north. I thought it ironic that my last trip would be the long awaited road-trip. But there would be little joy from it, as I was not coming back. The stars soon came out. And in the morning we crossed into Canada and continued north for half a day. It was a beautiful trip, and, I fact I felt better having “flushed out my lungs” sort of speak from the long drive.

The sun was still high in the clear cool sky, when we drove down into the valley onto a dirt road marked, “Charred Bone River”. Sounded bad. As I could hardly breathe on this dirt road Will slowed because my underside was taking a beating.
He was going to leave me in the desert. I'd rust in the sun till only my frame remained. But as I contemplated my demise, we pulled into what seemed like a small town made of motor homes. It seemed my road trip was over. Pulling up to the door of a rather large dusty home, a teen jumped out to greet us. Will with few words, Will handed him the envelope and the keys saying, “She's yours.” The boy excited, hovered over me, telling me of his plans to give me new life.
He said he'd saved some money, and after a few summers he'd have me back to new.

I realized Will did take care of me, So I thought it a good time to let them both in on my secret. On the way up here. I was going to just let it all blow away. But instead, I let a false panel under me get banged up on the dirt road drop. Will and the boy heard it and took a look to find a plastic wrapped bundle of cash. $150,000 worth.

Remember my previous owners. They were killed during a bank robbery. That's how I came to be sold at the Police auction. And after they celebrated and shared the find, Later that day, Mrs. Archer pleased by the news arrived to pick Will up.




The aim; to personify an inanimate object.
By Dayna Ferguson AKA Ironworker