There is a light that never goes out

She's a beater, a fixer-upper, a diamond in the rough. That's what my dad always said, when the old man croaked, I got a chance to see what was what. Ol' Betsy had been my grandfather's, then my dad's and now mine, some would even say it was a family tradition that every oldest son was conceived on her rugged leather seats. That would explain why they had a slight crunch to them.

Nevertheless, I decided to take her out for a spin once I laid pops to rest. She was a muscle car or something like that, sleek red finish with racing strips down the hood and a V-something engine sticking out of it. Cars were never my forte, whenever I told pops I wanted to be a writer instead of greasing my hands every day, he'd call me a lunatic, said that there was no money to be made writing stuffy books.

The thing handled like a boat, I nearly sprung my wrist just trying to take a turn with it, not to mention accelerating and breaking felt like stepping on a cinder block. You know, back in the day it was common to drink and drive, it was a wonder how my grandad even managed to grow old.

I figured the best place to push Ol' Betsy was to take to the highway. With a lot of effort we slipped away from the city and into the countryside. We shifted gears and pushed the engine as far as it could, screaming as it reached a whopping 100km/h, maybe it wasn't so impressive but it sure felt like it.

Just as I got to thinking that it really was a sweet ride, I could hear something pop under the hood. The incessant whirring of a chain began and a small light began to flicker on the dashboard. As if that was not enough, the car began emitting a loud, constant and insufferable beeping. Problem was that we were nowhere near town, any town for that matter, or anything.

Beep Beep

I rode on for a little while, up until I figured the engine could take it. How far was that? Great question. Eventually the tires screeched to a halt, I turned off the engine and yet the light kept blinking and screaming. When it rains it pours, I guess.

Beep Beep

All that surrounded me was bush-land, a few critters skittering past and the sun just about ready to call it in for the night. It was a fairly deserted back road, usually the type of place you go to shoot the shit or hook up, not ideal for when your car breaks down, however. The cellphone coverage was non-existent too, which is always nice.

Beep Beep

If I started walking I'd reach the nearest town in a few hours, but it'd be night by then and the thought of walking back was not ideal. This being the case, I took it upon myself to see what secrets this car hid.

Beep Beep

First things first, under the seats. I found an old magazine filled with pictures of some really slick rides, the type that drinks gas by the mouthful and steers like shit. Next to it were some yellowed out receipts, nothing much special to be honest, beers, snacks, parking tickets and a few fines. Inside the glove box were a bunch of CD's; The Who, Dire Straits and Steely Dan, to name a few. My dad always was a music man. There was also a pack of cigarettes in there.

Beep Beep

Never took him for a smoker, much less a Dunhill kind of man but I suppose that's where my love for the thing came from. Odd that he'd never mentioned that. Or maybe it was odd that I never asked him. Come to think of it, I never asked him a bunch of stuff. Heck, if he'd asked me to play one of those three bands at his funeral I couldn't even tell you what his favorite was.

Beep Beep

We grew apart quite a bit after I finished high school, suppose I stopped being the bright-eyed first son to him and the illusion that I would follow in his steps shattered when I told him I wanted to take up literature. It sounds silly, growing apart because of something like this. Then, my little brother stepped up, vowed to take up the family trade and my dad had stars in his eyes.

Beep Beep

That's what I tell myself, of course. But what if I could have done things differently? He'd offered me a ride in this old beater a few times in the past but I always declined, always had something more important going on. Yeah, right. It's easy to blame him for all of this, to say that I was the misunderstood black sheep that didn't want to slave away or whatever I used to tell myself in freshman year of college. But how much was I willing to reach out to him?

Beep Beep

It's not like I could make it up with him now, but it feels odd to discover something new about someone who I thought was so easy to figure out. I wonder if he felt the same about gramps, if this car ever broke down in the middle of the road with him in it, but he knew how to get this solved. What if I could too?

Beep Beep

Back to the drawing board it is. Figures if I can get my hands on a manual, I can figure out what the source of the problem is. I zip through the first pages, make and model yada yada yada who cares? There we go, the dashboard.

Beep Beep

And I flip page after page after page and find nothing. Not even the official manual has it covered. Speaking of covers, the hood in the manual image is wholly covered, no exposed engine block in sight. Meaning that the light could be something else entirely. How do I open the hood of this car up again?

Beep Beep

Once I finally figured it out I found the culprit. The bad part of having an external engine is that a lot of things can mess with it. Case in point, a twig stuck between one of the chains. I yank it out and suddenly the noise is all gone.

…

It feels weirdly silent…almost as if that noise was telling me that it wasn't just the car that needed some fixing. I guess I got a knack for this after all. I hop back in on Ol' Betsy's lap and head on home. My dad may be gone, but my little bro still needs a fixer upper of a brother.