In those days: cars were long as buses,heavy as small metal buildings,back fins spread out like Lucifer's horns.The polished chrome glowed in the sun.We boys rode in the front like men,no seat belts, just sometimesrounding tight cornersan arm thrown across your chest.Men did the driving,pulling the stick into your knee.Radios had buttons, the red diallike a man on fire running for his life.You learned the right pressureto make the dial go where you wanted,a Johnny Cash song. Such a songmade your father nod. Gas cost nothing.Nobody pumped his own,and nobody complainedhanding the attendant a buck.He washed your windows, too,sometimes checked the oil, tire pressure. [End Page 165] You father usually waved him off.Nobody was kidding anyone;nobody pretended the roads were safe,a shoulder strap could save you,an airbag would suddenly appear,you could live forever.To make the point clearer,your dad invoked that long lost unclewho got besotted and let it fly,pushing the needle beyond 150,a speed no instrument could measure,no driver could keep on the road.While your father sat you on his lapand let you steer the great machine,he spoke of your uncle's young smile,his full and greased-back black hair,wink he gave before pulling away.Then your father kicked the gasand you flew through a red light,car cabin sweet with cigarette smoke,laughter, body odor, and mortality.Nobody said anything. Nobody could.We all saw what was coming. [End Page 166]
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