Every person has a story. What people don't unda'stan is every car has a story too. Just so happen my story tangle with a car's story.
When my pa first bought the car - our first as a family - I was four. The day he brung home tha car he says it look like an ebony body builder on wheels. I don't know what tha mean then, but I know now and it sure make ma frown like the devil.
I was in a stage, thinkin objects was real. I thought that car was a hellhound from one o' my ma's scary bible stories. When I tol' pa he thought this was a hoot. We's call it Hellhound from then on. And it was. Tha thing could roar louda than a lion with a thistle in it's paw. I'd be playin with my chawk in the carway and pa come home, that car near gobble me up into its dark maw. It like a growlin beast at my back.
Pa said don't wurra, tha car never take a bite a me, I'm spoilt he say. Back then he coulda been right.
Weren't till lata I get unscared and start to see it for wha it was.
Tha ol' car hold our family togetha.
When ma used to walk home in the pourin' rain from the fac'try, she catch such a cold. Now pa can pick her up. Sometimes they even catch a milkshake togetha first.
On Fridays when I had no schoo next morn - oh Lord how I hated schoo then - we'd pile inta the Hellhound and go to the drive-in show. I'd squeeze between ma and pa on the shiny leatha bench seat. Sometimes I'd fall right asleep, and I'd always have the besta dreams. I'd dream I'm king of the hellhounds and we'd ride through the city, snatchin' up crim'nals.
As I grew, times they gota hard. People, they ain't lookin'to pay people they ain't have to. My pa got laid off, then my ma too; lot a people did. Soon we move to a small apar'ment. My mum want my pa to sell Hellhound, but he don't. He can't I guess. Tha the only thing linkin' him to what we had.
Afta I see mum start coughin' more. She always cough, but this sure is new and it's not just her. We learn her years at the fac'try make her sick, others too. Even Hellhound can't take her way from tha. My pa gets mad and then bitter like ma's rhubarbed pie. But one night he just knows. He tell me to get Hellhound runnin'. I'm neva allow to drive Hellhound, not yet. I want to feel excited but I don't. Pa, he cradles ma carefully and sits her in the middle a Hellhound, between us. Then tells me to drive. Tha car drives smootha than it ever did, like it was scared a bouncin' ma. It don't even jump for'ard goin' inta third like it likes to. We go to ma's favourite spot, lookin' over our city. Tha city ain't always nice to us, but ma sure love it. It's then I know what goin' happen. Her breathin' slows, like she goin' sleep real quiet. And then as she lean on my pa, she don't wake. We cry silent as if not to stir her.
Growin' up was hard then, for me and pa. Mum sure made it easy but we did our best. I decide to keep on with school, till I got accepted at university. It hurts to leave pa but the day before I go, pa hand me Hellhound's keys. Says it needs more good memories.
Drivin' away, pa looks smaller, just a wisp in that smoky mirra. I try my best; I work hard in school but make friends and memories too.
When I come home, I think I did good. Thinkin' pa be proud, I drive Hellhound home more nervous then I ought to be. In that small apartment, dustier than ma would ever let it, I find him in bed.
My strong pa is justa sick ol' man. I spend my days with him, but still couldn't figure out how he get so old, so soon.
One day he ask me to park Hellhound unda'neath his winda. So I shine it up real good and park it below. I pick up my poor pa and place him in the creaky rocka where it can see it. I prop open the winda so he can get a good view and feel the air on his face, like he drivin'. He can't sit there long, but I know it long enough. Next day he spend it in bed, but he smilin' just a bit.
Tha night, I know. Don't know how, I just do. I take that man in my arms, so small I wurra I crush him. His heart beats like a buttafly against my arms. I sit him gentle like on that cracked leather seat in the middle and get behind the wheel. He leans on my shoulda, sittin' where my ma sat them years ago. It makes my eyes burn thinkin' bout it. We drive slow and Hellhound with it's ol' shocks and worn brakes carries him like a newborn babe. It sure seem to know where to go, up to ma's favourite spot. Tha city below twinklin' like stars stuck on the earth. I wonda how them people below don't know what's going on. Why don't they know what's happenin' to us three: me, pa and Hellhound. It's quiet and I think he gone but he squeeze my hand with his frail one. With one last effort he pat ol' Hellhound on her dusty dash like she a retired huntin' dog. Pa, he curl up 'gainst me and his breathin' goes quiet. Then it's just me and Hellhound.
Over the last couple of days I've been obsessively scouring information about "Bug-Out Bags" and 72 hour survival kits. When it comes to the end of the world, I'm realistic. It's going to happen. Or at least a detrimental earthquake that puts life on hold for a few days. What would you do if such an event occurred? Aside from the pants-wetting and boot-shaking, you would find yourself unprepared, with nothing to eat, your water possibly unsafe to drink and as looters run rampant you would discover yourself unprotected and a victim to the new world laws.
