This Old Truck

“Big ol' truck
10 feet tall and 10 feet wide
It's a big ol' truck
Here she come again, man”

(Toby Keith – Big Old Truck)

It's done...truck is mine legal as well as physical.

They wouldn’t let the old tag stay on the truck. But, the DMV gal is also widowed so let me keep it rather than turn it in.

It’s a piece of tin. Metal with paint, number and letters on it. Why obsess over such a small thing when I know truck will either be farmed out or traded in sooner rather than later?

Who knows why we do these things?

Reckon I'll just tuck it under the seat for a spell...talisman I s’pose.

Not sad...just sentimental. Yanno?

There was no doubt that truck was his. He fell in love with her the minute he yanked opened the door and his rump hit the seat. Sat behind the wheel and fell in love with a truck. Little boy with stars in his eyes.

Had to have it.

Men are funny that way.

“4 wheel drive”, he said, “perfect for the roads on the mountain up at Boy Scout Camp.” (Uh, huh.)

“Jump seats for the Grandmonkey”, he continued hopefully. (OK)

“Big enough bed to haul stuff” (Yup)

“Trailer hitch for pulling a pop-up” (Another new toy)

“4 wheel drive,” he repeated going for the deal clincher, “No more worries about me on the road for a call out in bad weather.” (Right…one of my least favorite things about his working for a utility company)

Oh, yeah…he test drove a few more attempting to convince me he was making comparison studies. I let him think I bought into his little charade.

Yeah, right…I knew from day one and that first starry eyed look we’d be driving that truck home.

A few days and a bit of negotiating later she sat in our drive.

Within a week he had his first ding innit.

Twinkling blue eyes and lopsided grin he snickered “I broke her in today” and pointed out an odd wedge shaped dent in the tail gate.

“Light post. Couldn’t quite tell where the back of the truck was.” (Yup)

First of many.

He had fun in that truck…WE had fun in that truck. There was no road he would not try. Bumping over dirt roads, plowing through mud, sliding on sand…she was his favorite toy.

Then he died and truck was mine.

His scent…his touch…his music permeated her interior. In the beginning I could still catch just the faintest whiff of his Swisher Sweets Little Cigars and almost feel his hands over mine on the steering wheel. Driving down the road I often felt the touch of his fingers on my free hand or his knee pressed against mine as it would be when I drove with him beside me in the passenger seat.

The radio, however, remained silent for 6 months after my first outing alone and tears blinded me to the point of having to pull over and compose myself. Our station…our songs…his songs…the tears would have watered the desert. Even without the music I shed enough tears to fill a pond. The odd song or de-ja-vu moment can still cause my eyes to mist over and my heart to give the odd thump. Yet, I feel safe within the confines of the metal and the memories.

So…there she is…thousands of miles on the engine, multitudes of on and off road adventures beneath her frame and a million tears later…she’s sits in the drive…his truck…my truck...waiting for the next adventure.

I love driving her as much as he did.