That car was his baby and he was mine. In the blink of an eye it all blew apart. He lost his baby, and I lost mine.
He loved that car from the minute he laid eyes on it, he didn’t even know how to drive a standard but he wanted it. He was insistent that he would learn so he could have that car. That sporty little black car. He painted the grill black, put new rims on it, and he was ready to roll. The thing sat so low to the ground I nearly had to roll out of it when I rode with him.
He turned the bass up so high, as well as the music, hooked his phone up so he could play Pandora. And I swore the windows shook. But he might have gotten that from me, I like my music loud, always have and I don’t see that changing any time soon.
He learned to drive the stick shift up on Thompson Road, and Ed Clark before he even had his license. Practicing with just his permit, so that when he got his license we could register and insure that little black Mazda and let him go. I bought him this bumper sticker for it.
We both laughed about it. But deep down I was terrified, he was my baby, and now he was driving, independent and I could see every horror around each corner.
Both he and Kyle kept telling me that I was just a worry wort. He rear ended a young lady on the boulevard coming out of the tech school, so I figured we were good. He had his one mulligan out of the way, all was good.
Until that fateful phone call. Until my world turned upside down, sideways and spun in ways that I didn’t know possible.