black pavement. Katie’s Volvo rolled down the hill, and the familiar small blue pickup following close behind. My dad’s shoulders sagged as relief overtook him. From the moment Katie learned to drive the stick-shift, we hardly ever saw her. She was always off with her friend Summer or one of the boyfriends that we never met. The Volvo pulled into the driveway and parked and the pickup pulled in behind it. Katie stepped out of the Volvo and approached the front door, hugged my father and entered the house. John stepped out of the Mitsubishi and came up the walkway as well. “Clutch went out on the freeway. We can settle the bill later,” John said. His familiar charcoal jumpsuit was soaked through and stuck to his frame. “Thanks, John. I can’t thank you enough,” bags sagged under Dad’s eyes. John nodded, “You should get some sleep, Bill. She’s safe.” In 1999, it was my turn to add a car to the family fleet. It took almost all the savings I had leftover from my paper route of four years to buy the car. I was turning 16 in less than a month, and I had already completed driver’s ed. Looking through classified ads, I found a white ‘89 Ford Taurus at a local dealership. The dealer was asking $1300. John came out and checked the engine, the suspension, the frame—we wanted to make sure the expense of maintaining the car wouldn’t outweigh the low cost up front. “Doesn’t look like it’s been in any accidents. No damage underneath, and everything seems in good condition. Nothing a tune-up can’t fix,” John had said. “The tires are a bit bald though, you’ll want to replace those.” I took John’s advice and offered the dealer $1000, since I had to change the tires. The dealer countered with $1100 and he would throw in new tires. I accepted. We met up with John at the house later that week. “What would win in a race, my Taurus or the Caravan?” I asked as John replaced the fuel filter under James Klouse, 1999 the car. 24
Manastash 2013