Toy Cars

October 14, 2010
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It never used to be this way. When I was young, we were the best of friends caught up in our crazy-fun-filled adventures. On days when I felt cheerful, we would travel to Candy Land. There we would set off on our banana split boat traveling down the soda pop stream. We gawked as the lemonhead sun melted away in the horizon, and watched blissfully as a deep-navy-blue-blanket covered the sky. On days when I felt gloomy, he would take me out for ice cream. I always got strawberry; he always got butterscotch. While we ate, we sat on the curb and counted all of the yellow cars that quickly zoomed by.

As a kid, I was exceptionally fascinated by his talent of knowing any make of any car. He would rattle off models and years like a first grader reciting the alphabet. Together we would collect petite toy cars, line them up, and race them across our deep-red-cherry-wood floors. His favorite was a 1978 metallic green Monte Carlo, to me it did not look like much. I, on the other hand, was more into the fancy-convertible-sports cars.

I vividly remember one night, we were outside in our backyard laying on the detailed quilt my great-grandmother had hand-made for me. He was pointing to all of the constellations and telling me how they all have captivating stories behind them. I gazed over at him and we met face-to-face. I was immediately lost in his misty gray eyes that almost appeared like stars to me. He had a dark complexion and his whiskers stood up on his blush rosy cheeks. “Promise me we will be friends forever,” I said.

“I promise,” he answered. However, forever is an awfully long time, and time has a way of altering people, especially me.

As I became a teenager, I lost interest in childish games, staring at stars, and racing tiny-tin-toy cars. I could not be bothered. My priorities became makeup, boys, and cell phones. We began slowing drifting apart like two ships lost at sea. His jet black hair became silver, as if it were dusted with snow. My light-brown-unruly-childlike head of curls developed into a straight-lengthy-well-groomed head of flowing auburn hair. On lazy days when I was just sitting around like a big couch potato, he would try to entice me with matchbox cars and make believe games. He continuously kept forgetting, I was not a kid anymore, in fact I was sixteen.

One Friday night, I was at the mall with a bunch of my friends. Like all the other teenagers, we were strutting around sipping on our over-priced-Starbuck coffees and scoping out the opposite sex. We would flaunt into stores shopping for the latest looks. Later, my dad pulled up in his simple minivan. Most of the way home we did not speak, I was too caught up in the blaring music and the countless text messages from my friends. He madly turned the music off and snatched the phone from my hands. That is what started it. We started screaming at each other with incredible rage. Then we came to a red light and silence filled the car, I guess it was because we each could not think of anything else to shout. “What ever happened to my little girl?” he asked. I sat there purposely not making eye contact, and I thought to myself, what did happen?

“She grew up,” I commanded. I gazed over at him and we met face-to-face. I was immediately lost in his familiar misty gray eyes that still appeared like stars to me. All of a sudden, I noticed a vibrant light getting bigger and bigger behind him, the disturbing sound of brakes screeching, and a car horn blaring. It all happened in a split second. Images of us laughing, licking ice cream, tallying yellow cars, and staring at far-away stars flashed before my eyes. Then it was black.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and nothing but sorrow filled the air. People dressed up in dark colors were mourning as a life slipped away into a deep hole. I felt horrible and overwhelmed with sadness. My heart was heavy, and was sinking into my gut like the Titanic. I kept replaying the moment over and over again in my head, but most importantly I kept replaying the last words he had said to me. I never really came to terms with the answer; I do not know if I ever will. Taking a deep breath I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the 1978 metallic green Monte Carlo. Tears rolled down my cheeks, I gently tossed the toy car into the hole, and I watched as it tumbled a bit and disappeared into the darkness.

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This article has 10 comments. Post your own now!

beau said...
Nov. 14, 2010 at 4:55 pm

The insight on how to tell a story is far beyond this young author's years.  Let's hear more from her soon.



karen G said...
Oct. 29, 2010 at 9:33 pm
A great ,great story. Would love to read more of your work!
Lisa said...
Oct. 29, 2010 at 8:25 pm
Great story!!!!  Of course it made me cry. 
GayG said...
Oct. 29, 2010 at 7:49 pm
Great story!!  Your writing is very mature.  Keep it up!!
Lori said...
Oct. 29, 2010 at 5:33 pm
Wow what a great story!!! 
Jordan M. said...
Oct. 24, 2010 at 10:42 am
Yay Emma!!! That was REALLY good!!! It was sad but amazing :D
PatN replied...
Oct. 28, 2010 at 6:29 pm
The story was really great!  You certainly are very talented.
mikayla k123 said...
Oct. 21, 2010 at 9:15 pm
omigosh tht was soooo sad! but it was really good!
iheartskittles54 said...
Oct. 21, 2010 at 7:29 pm
YEAH EMMA! I love this piece soooooooooo much! Great job! <3
Emma V. replied...
Oct. 21, 2010 at 8:06 pm
Thanks u 2!
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