Becoming New Again

For all of her life, she had been just another car. Something to putz into town in. Something to put groceries and children in. Something to race other cars in.

She never felt any true connection to those people.

Not to a single one.

Then, a little girl and a little boy rescued her from a junkyard. They paid for her release with their own hard earned money.

Their father saw her and shook his head. “It’s gonna take a lot of work, fixing her up.”

“Please, daddy!” cried Jemima, the little girl.

“Please fix her up!” cried Jeremy, the little boy.

“Well. I’ll see what I can do. Can’t make any promises.” He looked the car over from front to back. “But it looks like she has a good frame. I’ll do the best I can.”

The children chorused, “Thank you, daddy!” and ran off to play.

He worked on her from morning to night and every hour in between.

The children would come in with their laughter and noise.

The old car felt something stir inside of her. Maybe it was inside her transmission. Maybe it was inside her carburetor. She couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

She only knew that it was a good feeling. A happy feeling as the children played in their father’s workshop and as their father fixed her up and cleaned her out.

Every day, she felt better and better. With each new repair and each tapped out dink and dent, she felt oh so much better.

She had the strangest feeling that she could fly.

If Caractacus, the children’s father, would put wings on her, she knew that she would be able to fly.

“And there she is as bright and as clean as new.”

The children were amazed by her transformation.

Cars can’t very well look into mirrors, but she didn’t need to see her reflection to know that she looked so good.

She could feel it inside her tires and in her newly upholstered seats. She could feel the shine in her chrome.

She could see it in the children’s overjoyed faces.

“Oh!” cried Jemima. “She’s wonderful! What should we call her?”

“Shiny Pretty Girl.” said Jeremy.

“Oh, no!” Caractacus said. “That’s no way to name a car. You have to take her out for a drive. Listen to the hum of her motor, the spinning of her wheels, and Boom! Her name will come to you. Come on! Let’s take her for a spin.”

“yay!” The children clambored into the car.

Caractacus sat in the front. “Don’t forget, children. Listen. She will tell you her name.”

“We’re listening.”

“All right, old girl.” He turned the key. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”


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