Memoir

Last summer I worked my tail off to get a nice car. I painted houses, cut lawns, moved furniture, and worked two other jobs on top of that. After weeks of coming home, my body sore and aching, wanting nothing more than to quit every job, stay home, eat a bag of Cheetos and play 2K, I couldn’t imagine going back to my college with no transportation. Then, after the hours upon hours, the weeks upon weeks, the day was finally here. I had a good enough amount of money to get me something nice. 

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Three days passed and I couldn’t find anything that really called out to me and that was within my price range. Then, just as I was just telling my friend I couldn’t find anything worth spending my money on, my mom sent me a text. I went to open it, kind of confused because my mother isn’t really the texting type, but as I opened the message, I saw the most beautiful truck. It was a dark but vibrant royal blue—my absolute favorite shade of blue. I texted back immediately, “WHERE AT & HOW MUCH?!”  She takes her time sending me back the next message. My heart was full on coming out my chest. I just knew this was the truck for me. I needed it. I felt like it needed me. Then, finally after watching those same three bubbles from the text pop up and disappear, she sends back, “It’s around the corner. It’s a friend of mines. He only wants three grand.” 

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I threw my phone up in the air, let out a deafening shriek so high pitched I kind of looked around to see if anyone else was in the house. Fifteen minutes had passed and my mom was outside honking. I was so ecstatic that I forgot to lock the door as I flew out the house into my mom’s car. She takes me around a couple blocks. Then I see it: the truck from the photo my mom sent me looked ten times better in person. I jumped out the car before it could even stop. 

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“It’s a 1995 1500 Chevy Silverado, brand-new engine and brand-new brakes,” the owner said. “I only want three grand for the old lady.” 

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“Old lady?” I said. “Me and this truck were born the same year. We’re basically made for each other,” I said as I gave him the money in cash. 

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He hands me the title and the keys, and at that moment in life, when I first started up the truck, felt the motor quake and throttle, and the power behind that wheel as it vibrated, I knew that this was the vehicle for me. My fingers felt itchy every time they let go of the steering wheel. I felt like everything in my life led me to this exact moment. 

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Months passed and me and “Blue,” as I liked to call her, went everywhere. Being born in California and moving to Texas at three years old, I could honestly say I never really left North Texas since then, but having this truck exposed me to so much more than the basic riff-raff living in in my neighborhood. Me and Blue drove to Houston, Prairie View, explored most of East Texas and its woods. 

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The pain I felt on April 9th was up there with the most painful feeling ever. That Saturday morning was my best friend Chill’s birthday. We went out to get some tattoos after a previous night of celebrating.

 

We came back to campus tired and still a little dizzy from the night before when suddenly Chill’s crush, Bebe, comes in. I knew the kid was crazy over her and she was asking us to take her to Wingstop. I look over at him and he’s just staring at her like he was waiting at the altar. I gave him the keys to my beloved truck as sort of as a birthday present, so him and his crush could go on a nice little outing.  

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I get in my dorm, sit on the bed, and look outside. It’s instantly pouring down rain.  Thoughts ran across my head as fast as I could think them. What if he tries to show out in front of her and starts to speed? What if he can’t drive in the rain? What if he gets nervous but doesn’t want to lose his cool around her? What if he tries to force himself to do something he knows he can’t? But still I suppressed those thoughts and tried to relax myself with a movie and some ice cream. Then, as soon as I started to feel normal again and not so worried, an unknown number calls my phone

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“Hello?” I said. 

 

No one says a thing but I hear what sounds like sirens approaching.

 

 “HELLOO?” I said again. 

 

“He-he-helllo, Brandon, man, we were in an accident. Everyone is fine, but your truck,”—he stops his sentence and inhales deeply—“your truck is flipped, man.” 

 

 I felt as if my child was murdered. I felt so betrayed and used. My body swelled up with anger. 

 

I screamed, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, MY TRUCK IS FLIPPED?” 

 

I threw the phone and knocked over my TV stand. 

 

“My truck!!” I kept repeating over and over as I left my room and stormed out into the hallway, punching walls, doors and windows. 

 

My hands started to go numb and my vision blurry. I could feel my anger taking over and me starting to black out. I quickly snapped out of it and found a ride. We rushed to the scene and there was so much traffic. I hopped out the car and marched towards the wreck. I looked to my left and saw a small red car on the side of the road, perfectly fine, maybe just some grass and mud on it.

 

Then, as I continued to walk farther, I saw my baby turned upside down, windows shattered, axle broken. 

I ignored the police officers and fire department telling me to stay away from the truck and instantly put my hands on the it, letting the last bit of sadness go away before I clinched my fist, consumed in anger. I punched the truck twice, leaving massive dents in the side of the driver door. I turned around quickly and ran towards Chill. There wasn’t a scratch on him. The police and fire fighters quickly swarmed me, stopping me from ripping the flesh off of this guy’s face. Revenge was the only thing I could think of that would ease the pain I felt. Then I looked to the right and saw BeBe being taking away by the ambulance. I was being selfish.

 

Yes, I lost my truck but at that same moment someone almost lost their actual child. I settled down and spoke with the officers about the insurance. 

 

 

-Brandon Robinson