'71 f100

He sits in his garage wrenching on the old behemoth, knuckles still bloody and sore.  As he sets the wrench down and grabs the rag he notices the picture of his dad sitting there.  He looks at it and remembers all the times they spent together in this same garage working on cars and trucks past.  As he smears the grease over his hands and arms he remember the first thing they built together.  Blood is thicker than water but only gasoline runs in these veins, he steps back and looks at the old truck and thinks of a name.  He thinks of the races past and victories and crashes and as he examines the old truck he puts on his glasses.  Looking her over hood to tailgate he notices a large blemish on her face.  1

“It seems as though this truck has seen better days,” he says.  2

Noticing the large dent in the hood he pondered a name for the old heap.3

“Hrmmmm, what should I call you… I know, you will be Scarface,” he said he in relieved tone.4

Now that she had a name he returned to working on her slowly and carefully he moved the engine hoist into place as he connected the hoist to the intake manifold he remembered the first time he pulled an engine out of a car.  She was an old blue Ford Mustang, someone had beaten her badly.  He remember hooking up the hoist and pulling the tired old 289 out of her shell.  Thinking back he can still smell the mixture of fuel and oil in her oil pan, he remember taking apart the main caps and noticing that the fool who owned the tired car before had spun every connecting rod bearing and even snapped a few connecting rods.  He remembers while cleaning the block the chunks of old solidified oil pushing through the galleys.5

He finishes connecting the hoist to the old trucks tired engine.  He then slides back under the beast to remove the 6 blots that hold her heart in her chest.  As the wrench clicks away removing them slowly 1 from each side at a time he remembers back to the old Mustang.  After cleaning out her block until she was spotless he sent it out to be Magnafluxed to make sure that her old heart still had something left to work with.  To his dismay he had come to find that the foolish previous owner had scorched her so bad that many cracks where found throughout the entirety of her block.  It was impossible to use her old heart for she would certainly perish if he where to rebuild it.    He remembers the countless hours spent figuring out what exactly he was to do with her now.6

The final blots are removed from the truck’s engine mounts.  The old, oil soaked and ragged heart is removed from her shell.  He brings the tired old 351 over to his engine stand and takes a long hard look at it before he begins dis-assembly.7

“Man it is really amazing that this tired old truck has at least one good thing left in her,” he says with delight.8

Certain now that he has something he can work with he begins removing the old components from the engine, remembering the faith filled day when he found an engine that would work for his precious Mustang.9

Rummaging through an old junkyard he noticed a 1996 Ford Explorer sitting by itself in a corner and he remembered someone saying something about the engines being good for some reason, the details where vague at the time because of his youth, and inexperience. He remembered that it had to be an eight cylinder as he ran over and looked sure enough it was the engine he needed.10

As the man pulls the engine oil pan off he look over at the clock realizing how late it is, so he begins to put away his tools and prepare for sleep, as he walks over to the door of the garage to turn out the lights he looks out back at the tarp covered car.  As he walks over to go outside and look at it he glances up and sees the newspaper clipping. 11

“A local drag racer named Jim was in a catastrophic wreck today,” it reads12

He looks over the clipping as it talks about the luck of the driver to have been able to walk away from the wreck and about how much damage was done to the driver’s car. As he starts outside, he hears footsteps fast approaching, as he turns a little boy jumps up in his arms and exclaims,13

“Hey uncle Jim what are you doing?” he says as he pants trying to catch his breath.14

“Hey buddy, nothing really, why don’t you go inside and wait for me.” Jim replies in a soft tone.15

As the boy scurries off into the house Jim walks over to the trap covered car and removes her shroud.  Sure enough it’s his mustang, but it’s also the wrecked car described in the newspaper.16

“Don’t worry baby,” he says softly, “I will never forget the day you spared my life and gave your own.  Don't worry I will rebuild you, that much I promise.”17

As he puts the dark colored tarp back over the twisted Mustang he looks up into the house and sees his brother and sister-in-law, and their two kids in the house waiting for him.  A small crack runs across his face as if he was smiling.18

“Man it is a good sight to see people back in this old house.”  He mutters to himself.19

As a cold breeze blows up on the back of his neck he walks up the short flight of stairs into the house and turns off the lights outside.20