The Car

Just two blocks down from the playground was Earl Johnson’s Auto Shop, and he had cars and trucks lined up all around the shop.  There were old ones, and older ones, and even older ones than that, but I don’t remember seeing a single car sitting outside the shop that was void of any rust.  I remember the pickups, old sports cars, a dump truck, and even a really old car that looked like it had space-ship fins on it with big eyes.  Often I would go down there and play, and Earl would see me and just shrug it off.  “Boys will be boys,” he would say. 

I loved climbing over the car hoods and getting under them.  I felt like I was climbing over massive car-monsters, and I was a mighty car-monster-slayer-warrior, the one who had to kill all the evil car-monsters that would hurt people.  I’d take the same stick with me everywhere I went in that junk yard.  It was long and pointed at the end, but it looked like a sword, and that’s what I liked.  Just above the part where I’d put my hands, the stick has a two little branches that came out the sides, just like a real sword would.  I would leap from car to car, battling the evil car monsters until each one was dead. 

One day I was battling the little red sports car monster, and in my final blow I threw my stick right into the front of the windshield, and cracks spread out all over it. The sound of it going through must have been loud because Earl came right out with a bewildered look on his face. I dropped behind the car next to me, knowing that Earl would surely kill me for what I'd done.  Trying to stay as low as I could, I ran to the back of the junk yard.  Once I got to the fence I tried so hard to jump and grab the top of the wood fence, but it was just too far.  I tried to think of what I could do when I saw a car sitting there with its door open.  I pulled the door open as fast I could and as soon as I got into the back seat I burst in to tears.  I was so scared that I cried quite loud; I’m sure Earl could’ve found me even from a ways away.  I cried in the darkness of that car; it’s windows were covered with thick layers of brown dirt.  Suddenly the car door opened, and as the light burst in, I saw Earl’s face, his hand grasping the top of the car as he peered in at me.  I felt so afraid that I moved to the furthest back corner just to get away from him.  Earl crawled partway onto the front seat, and extended his hand towards me and spoke, “Boys will be boys.”  I couldn’t believe Earl wasn’t going to kill me, but I took his hand and he helped me out of the car.

After that I was much more careful about the cars in Earl’s junk yard, especially the car I had hid in.  It was the one car in the whole yard that wasn’t locked, and it became my car fort.  After all, what’s a car-monster-slayer-warrior without a good car fort?  I put all sorts of things in that car: blankets, toys, food, anything and everything necessary for a good car fort.  In a way it became my home away from home.  Often, I’d forget that I’d left a certain toy in that car and in the middle of the afternoon I would run the whole five blocks from my house to the car.  And on many days, after a hard days work of car-monster fighting, I would just sit and eat it the car fort.  It was the best fort a kid could have. 

One cold winter afternoon I convinced my friends to play a game of hide-and-go- seek in the snow-covered playground, and after everyone’s quick shouts of “NOT IT!” it was Tommy’s turn to seek.  “One hundred three, one hundred two, one hundred one…” and I was off.  I knew I was so smart to go hide in the car; I thought I could be there hours before anyone would come find me.  As I opened the car door, I stopped for just a moment to hear Tommy’s high-pitched voice yell, “Ready or not here I come!”  I could barely contain myself as I leaped clear over the front seat. 

After my soft landing on the back seat I turned suddenly and looked downward to see a man lying on the floorboards.  He wore dark, ragged clothes, and his face was ugly and dirty.  He opened his eyes and looked at me with eyes filled with anger.  As the man quickly sat up in the car, his hands, which wore frayed tipless gloves, shook violently as he reached out to grab me.  His face was tense with anger, and his eyes were crazed and wide.  “Y-y-y-you c-c-can’t be here. This is muh, m-m-m-my home nuh, n-now.”  My fright caused me to freeze in place; I didn't know what to do.  His cold soiled fingers gripped my neck, and I felt like I couldn’t do anything, not even scream.  After pushing my body to the back of the car, the man proceeded to beat me.  Punch after punch, he hit me in the side, in the back, in the face… many times.  I don’t know how long it lasted; I could barely even cry.  At the end of it, he picked me up and threw me to the front of the car, hitting my head on the dashboard and knocking me out.  I can’t remember anything that happened after that, but I don’t think I really want to. 

I don’t even remember how my parents found me after that.  They looked for the man, but he was never found.  I don’t know what it was that drove that man to hurt me so; his angry eyes still visible in my mind.  There is only one thing I know for certain: I never went back to that car.  All my blankets and toys were left there never to be touched again.  Even my most precious belongings, my favorite toys, were to be left there for a long time.  How could a child, even an adult, bring himself back to a place like that?  I don’t think I will ever be able to return to the happy child I once was.  I can’t see the world like I used to.  The windows of my soul, just as the windows of the car, have been blotted out with the dirt of the years of my pain.

Eric Teachout