The Time Chevy

I just recently returned from a camping trip with my brother and halesha and her brother. it was fun. strange, because of one thing:
the truck.
well, lets get straight to the point, for once.

my brother currently owns a Chevy truck from the 70's, maybe older. its huge. big. its a greyish blue colour, but only the front. see, it has no back, only a flatbed. a flatbed of old, thick wood. however, what makes this truck special are the cupboards on this flatbed. On each side of the back end are two white cupboards. between its space for tools, anything.

whats great about this?
I slept in it, and I saw its floor.

so?

Its previous owner was my father. Before the truck was cleaned of its character and mess, it was my dads errand truck. back when he used to be a mechanic, surviving on what he made from that until computers came into the auto industry. back when he owned it, there was a welder on the back as well, right behind the passenger seat. also, filling the cupboards and space between were tools of all sorts, jacks, wheels, everything. inside the truck, in the rather large cab, was the big green plastic seat.

In the summer, if one was to wear shorts in that truck, they would be stuck to that seat for a while.
all over the floor of the cab would be books, old and warm water bottles, more tools, clocks, rags dirty with oil, paper, and writing on the ceiling.

this was the truck, the truck i would always see my dad in, and i still cant picture him in anything else.

as a young child, i would go on errands occassionally with my father, sitting in the passenger seat with a seatbelt that rarely came out for me. there was a trick to it that i have long forgotten, sadly. behind us, our old dog Boss, the greatest dog i have ever known and will never be beaten (its not possible), would be riding along with us, head in the breeze, tongue out, just sitting calmly. he was a german shepard mixed with either wolf or fox, but i'm thinking it was fox. a dangerous mixture, but he was truly a dog from, if there is such a thing, heaven. he was the perfect dog, the best companion to have. a perfect friend.

i would sit in the shade of this truck while my father worked on tractors, trucks, cars, anything. that, or i would sit with boss int he back, moving whenever my dad needed another tool. we would just sit and watch dad work, wearing his old "uniform", a big brown thing with stains of all sorts on it. and he loved it. we loved it. it was our freedom.

as time went on, and computer chips began to come into the equatio of engines, my father could no longer stay up to date with how to repair things. he is now a computer genius, but not with car computers, sadly. he no longer does errands for people, save for those with old tractors or cars who remember his name from the years when he was the best mechanic around. and even now, when he goes on those errands, he uses a new truck, a smaller, more common one.

for a while, the old chevy sat in his back driveway, off to the side, gathering dust, flattening tires, and weeds growing around it. it was forgotten, left to die of old age without any last run.

however, my brother, not too long ago, wrote off his own car. it wasn't his fault, for once, but someone elses, so he was given help in finding a new vehicle, and he found it: in the chevy.

in my dads garage, the chevy was brought back to life over time, with new tires, engine work, the whole works. and for the first time, there was nothing in it.

now, the welder is long gone, as patrick does not use it, same with all the tools filling the cupboards and back space. Boss is no longer alive to see the old truck, as he died seven years ago. he was old too.

and, last night, for the first time, i sat in the cab as it must have been years before, when dad had first gotten it: clean. I saw the floor. my feet were resting flat on the metel floor below me, far below me, it seems. and it was strange. Last night i slept in the truck, and i remembered the little window that was just in front of the main one. this window was just a little push-open thing, and i suddenly remembered it while i was searching for air.

i rode home today with my hand out the window. I couldn't remember how i had gotten the seatbelt out those years before, so i rode without it on. i thought back to the days when i remarked to my dad "Look! I can almost see out the window!" and he would smile for me.

they were great days. and you see? I do have a time machine, an old one without computers in it but pure gears, plain metel. a plain old truck, customized and used.