May. 16, 2002 ~ Just a truck
A couple of our older vehicles will be leaving us soon. They weren't any trouble, really, and they added a bit of color to the yard. Okay, not exactly the yard. But close enough to the house to be seen, and I suppose they were just taking up space, serving no purpose... oh, OKAY, they're ugly.
The Vega is a joke. Bright orange (who decided orange was a good color for cars?) and goofy-looking, it was one of Soldier Boy's mistakes. He has such vehicles all over the country. You know... "It seemed like a good idea at the time." That kind of a deal. He bought this thing cheap, with the idea of working on it and fixing it up. It even ran, in the beginning. But a couple of weeks after he bought it, he moved out of state, leaving the Vega here. And it's sat right here ever since, rusting, getting older and older.
"You can sell it," he said, "or get rid of it."
The truck, though... the truck is different. It's a '77 White Chevy which belonged to my brother. At this point, I can't even remember why he gave it to me... maybe for Soldier Boy to use when he was learning to drive? Maybe so. It's been with us almost 10 years now, and we actually drove it for quite a while. It was our backup, backup, extreme emergency vehicle, the one we used when we were in a serious bind. The engine was pretty good. The transmission needed replaced or rebuilt, but this old thing was in such sad shape that there wasn't much point in doing any repairs. We're talking holes rusted through the floor. You get the idea.
Soldier Boy did drive it for a time, and then we used it here on the farm, for hauling wood and driving around in the pastures -- things like that. But finally, it just seemed like too much trouble. We had to charge up the battery every time we used it (because we rarely used it), pour in transmission fluid, and... something else... can't remember what else, but it got to be a pain. So it just kind of retired, and is parked in front of the Vega. So it does serve an important purpose, because it blocks our view of the Vega!
We have to mow around these critters, and Husband has to weedeat around them, and I suppose they really have no reason for being. They might as well go.
But.
It was my brother's truck, a gift to me. He drove it for years before that. I have a very hard time parting with certain "things," for the simple reason that they belonged to someone I love. There's no reason to it or for it; I know it's irrational. You can't hold onto a person by holding on to their things. Objects don't keep a memory alive.
But.
All the same, I have a room filled with my mother's and brother's things, and it's been a long, slow process, letting go of those possessions. Don't even ask me about what's stored in the barn... it's crazy, I know.
I look at that old truck, battered and rusted, dented and tired though it may be, and I don't see a vehicle. I see my brother sitting in that truck, smiling, his arm out the window, waving good-bye as he drove away from our house, years ago. I see a much younger Soldier Boy, proud and confident, driving that truck to school for the very first time. I see Soldier Boy later that same day, much less confident, shaken badly, after his first fender-bender. I see us creeping along in the back pasture, slowly climbing the mountain, parking at the top and gazing out at the rolling hills... mist rising from the ponds, the house small and insignificant in the distance.
After listening to Husband's gentle and not-so-gentle reminders that we really should do something about those junkers ("we," as usual, meaning "me"), I finally made a few calls the other day, and found a taker. A salvage yard. I just have to make the final call, probably tomorrow, and the man will bring his tow-truck out and haul them off. I can't say that I'll miss the Vega. But the truck, well...
I guess it's just a truck.
That's what people tell me.
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