My father s blue Grand Maqruis

Written by: Carlos Villarreal

My father had this car, not very expensive but very fast. It was old, it was squared, it was blue… a Grand Marquis it was. My dad used to wash it whether it rain, snow or shine. It was right on the garage, I remember, not too close, not too far; it was nice and clean, it was his most special thing. It was old; it was a blue squared Grand Marquis. He loved to drive it, he loved to race it, and everybody in the family embraced it. A day came by, the Grand Marquis he let me drive. At first, I was nervous, I was stressed, I was pretty upset; at last, I was excited, I was thrilled… I was fascinated. This was my first time I drove a car, and even it was my first driving experience, it wasn´t so hard. I loved it, I raced it, just as my dad used to train me. Suddenly, technology came by my door and a portable telephone was installed on the floor. It was the first “not home phone” that I saw, It was the first portable phone in my home. It felt strange, it felt kind weird, it felt as if the world was getting newer and newer, and I was getting older and older, it felt as if the world was spinning and spinning and I was steady and steady; it felt so strange that when I realized, it had went out of range. My father used to race, he loved speed, he loved adrenaline, and of course… he loved me. My mother got scared when he drove the Marquis, she used to scream, shout, yell and cry, she used to dislike it and get out of it, she used to get cranky and sometimes angry. Then, another new artifact came by. What? A trailer horn? Yes indeed, a trailer horn was put in place. There it was, this shiny brass, there it was, this noisy trash. We used to have fun with it, I remember, I remember; we used to laugh scaring people, Oh medieval boys we were! So there it was, this lovely car, shinny, brilliant and old. It was lovely, it was squared, a blue Grand Marquis it was.  I would remember it forever, I would never forget it, I would save all the memories and I would smile when the memory come by. With or without the artifacts… we would miss it, we would miss it.