My vantage point is on an old ford pickup, with rust showing through the ten dollar two tone paint job, three color interior taken from various junk yard wrecks, and a wooden tool box in the back. It's 9 o'clock on a summer night, and finally the heat of the day is starting to dissipate. I'm sitting on the hood, surveying the scratches in the paint with my dusty brown cowboy boots resting on top of the winch. The sun has begun to sink lazily from the sky, at the same time, the moon is rising. Spoke, the old, scarred, stocky bay gelding, is chasing Pedro off his hay, stomping his feet and whisking his tail at the bugs that torment him so. Levi, my big baby, the tall red gelding who I've known since his birth two years ago, is wandering over to the fence, searching for more food to satisfy his massive appetite, not before he leans over the fence to survey me with those huge black rimmed brown eyes. Those eyes give him the look of a doe deer, together with his wide forehead and tapered muzzle, or of an Egyptian with Kohl eyeliner. The goats are butting heads and shovelling in as much food as their tiny mouths will allow. Pedro, the adorable gray burro, chews his hay quietly and tries to stay out of everyone's way, snorting and making squeaky little grunting noises when Spoke runs him off his dinner. I turn my attention away from the horses, ever insistent goats and the donkey, that my best friend wants to steal, to change positions on the hood of the truck and to look at the periwinkle and pastel pink clouds. A water bomber's silhouette appears on the horizon, reminding me of the ever present summer forest fires, as a lonely brown chicken wanders by, clucking quietly as she counts down to when my father will patiently herd her and the other brown and white escapees scattered across the yard. I watch another brown hen squeeze herself through the strands of barbed wire in the fence by the barn, and smile. Dad will have his work cut out for him. The green mill truck, an ugly, two wheel drive Chevrolet with the white West Fraser logo and stench of sawdust, sits parked a ways away from the rusty behemoth which I'm sprawled out across, and suddenly I'm reminded how ugh, I dislike Chevrolets. The diesel crew cab beyond the Chevy is my favorite though, with its aggressive stance and teal green paint. My little brother appears unexpectedly beside the truck, interrupting my adoration of the blue oval carrying diesel. He asks a favour of me, to ride his low slung blue and yellow trail bike around the yard. It's been making weird clicking and cracking noises and he wants to be sure it isn't just him. I reluctantly agree, and climb on the bike to ride it a few turns around the yard, wobbling like a drunk. I look as out of place on that bike, in my tank top, jeans, cowboy boots and crumpled straw hat, as he would look in his board shorts, football t-shirt, and black plastic knee and elbow pads, sitting in a stock saddle atop one of my quarter horses cutting cows. But I pedal on anyways, feebly attempting some jumps, and watching Eric smile wryly at me sad efforts. I turn the bike over him as soon as I'm sure that yes, it sounds like the frame, maybe the shocks, are cracking, and return to my truck, aptly nicknamed the Beast, as quickly as I can. The once glossy black diamond plate bumpers, now rust tinged, my dad's creations from before I was born, are now my stepping stool to the hood. I watch the sun go down in its dying glory, and my little brother mutters about his bike being no good and wishing for a new one as he crosses the driveway to the house. My dad walks in from the area he is preparing to fence for pasture, pausing to tug on on of my messy dark braids and my bikini strings that are hanging down from my white tank top. He gives me a disapproving look, which I assume is for the bathing suit. He too walks to the house, and I hear the familiar creaking of the old front door as he enters. I slide from the hood, doing my best to impersonate Bo Duke, although the drop from the hood of this lifted three quarter ton pickup is considerably greater that that of an old dodge charger. As I swing up into the driver's seat, grabbing onto the top of the cab as I always do, I am greeted by the unique smell of the old truck, this odor unique and unidentifiable. A blend of dust, leather, and other things I don't know, but which remind me of so many miles, so many trips in this old beast. I stretch one leg out over the dashboard, and curl the other around the black steering wheel, worn smooth from nearly 25 years of driving. Suddenly, a large thump on the hood signals the arrival of Kitten, my mom's white cat. She leapt the remarkable distance from the Chev's hood to stand before me and peer quizzically through the windshield at me with her different colored eyes. As soon as she came she is gone, leaping gracefully off the truck to prowl the barn for some unlucky mouse or bird. The only evidence of her presence are the tiny paw prints on the hood. Without my realizing, it has gotten dark outside of the truck, my sanctuary, and soon I can hear my mother calling me inside. I leave the cab of the aging gray pickup, and cross the gravel driveway to the house, leaving the old monster in the dark.1
Author notes
I got the odd urge to write after a day at work and the lake, and this urge just happened to hit me while I was sitting on the hood of my 1980 ford pickup, where I often sit. This may have been a tedious read for some, as I tend to run on a bit, but I needed to write something, and I haven't posted in a while, so........ Anyways, hope someone enjoys it, Muchas amor, Mandy ....ps the title is a bit odd, but oh well, it somehow suits it, I think.
What did you think? Please comment!
Comments
1 - 17 of 17
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I did not find this write in the least bit tedious! I found myself very caught up in the detail you used. You really brought the reader to the scene. It felt like I was right there beside you while you were experiencing your day! You have great talent!
All the best,
Mandy
(ps- same names!) -
haha, yeah, my mom is always bringing hoe animals, although I was responsible for the horses and the donkey..well, no, he was a team effort, I suppose. I love old fords, hopefully I'll be able to restore a 74-79 f250, preferably a 77 High boy. Thank you for reading and commenting on my write.Muchas amor, Mandy
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I guess I sort of grew up the same way as you. I can picture all of this as if it were a memory. The goats, the horses, the chickens. We didn't have a donkey though. Although if my dad could have found one we probably would have. I loved this piece. I would have gotten my butt kicked for sitting on the hood though, but I was a bit younger and it was dad's pickup not mine. It was a '79 Ford. Ironically, years later after I (gulp) got married, we acquired the truck from dad and restored it (it got pretty rough after stiing for about 10 years). It turned out pretty good too. Well any way good write and keep up the awesome work.
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Haha Justin, don't you drive a chevy??? Anways, thanks for the kind word. Mandy
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Sounds like an awesome truck. I'm hoping to rebuild a 1977 Ford f 250 highboy, as soon as I can afford it. Thanks for the comments, muchas amor, Mandy
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Amen to that chevy's are horrible. Fords kick a**, at least I think so.
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that was very well written. this may sound sad but many, actually most parts of this are like my life to a T. great job, and it sounds like a good way to spendd a day lol
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whooot, you're good at this writing thing
and Chevys should be burned.
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I really see where this was tedious or dificult to read. i thought it was pretty good. It held my attention and near as I recall, it never faultered. I say two thumbs up and keep writing friend.
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And this my friend is where i say " i told you so "
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Awesome Read
Good...Real good acually. I to love my old Ford. I got a '72 F-150, and I love it. And I hate Chevys more then anything on this Ford ruled planet. -
This was a good read. I love how descriptive it was, I could see everything in my mind as I read it. Thank you for a lovely write.
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XLNT
"... watching Eric smiling wryly at 'my' sad efforts".
This was well done. I think some people would enjoy reading.
You paint this like with a brush.
Keep the title.Or would you like one of mine? Thought so!!!
I concur with the other commentors, that this is a gem!!
Regards from Las Vegas,
John -
Good!
Well worth a read...short and very sweet...more please! -
nice write, who likes a chevy anyway thier so fuckin ugly it makes me sick... not to mention ford out pulls chevy at a faster speed... ford trucks are the greatest trucks known to man, and anybody disagrees, they need to be shot, cause they sure in hell dont know what thier talkin about!!!
steven -
Well done
You say that the run offs are tedious...I really enjoyed them. They brought thought and character to what would generally be some routine write about another day in the rural world. I loved the background, as it really accentuates the write and brings everything out. A long, deep, fun read...good job. -
i enjoyed the read and i was right it was worth my time ... well good night
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