Take off your hat, I want to stand up.

Chapter 41: I need Wheels.

Chapter 41. I need Wheels, Man.

I need wheels, man.

Ev wanted to get out. She needed wheels. She wanted a handi-cap van, a Chev, she loved Chevies. She would be in the wheel chair for the rest of her life. This did not mean she could not get around. 

The first car I learned to drive was her daddies '52 Chev sedan with three on the tree and a sticky second gear. It bounced smoothly over all obstructions and ran in all types of weather, it was a beast.

We used to drive when I was under age to go look at new houses. Ev would holler, Jackie lets go look at houses, we would get in the car, she would light a smoke,I would drive. I looked older for my age. I looked about twelve, all smiles, short hair and skinny. I was so skinny I could easily fit between the fence boards and get into our back yard without opening the gate. There we were bouncing down the street , checked on house addresses and viewing the open house real estate market. We could size a property up in about ten minutes, from the open door how are you to the thanks and good bye. We were in awe of the new houses, high ceilings, shag carpet, fireplaces and all the latest gadgets and kismos.

May 2, we ventured out to view some houses in a new neighbourhood half way across town. We took my brother Donnie, who was about two, being the youngest of five kids he was always a bundle of energy. I rode that car like an Indy driver, smooth and efficient, I followed all of the rules of the road, as taught to me by my mom. We pulled into the drive at home, stopped and entered the house.

I was sitting in the leather swivel chair by the window. I happened to be snacking on some such thing, day dreaming of my conquest of the road and feeling fine. I glanced out at the street and did a double take and looked again. Holy man, the car seemed to be moving.

Donnie had jumped into the old Chev, he put it into neutral by jamming the gear shift up and down as he had seen us do a few minutes earlier. The car should not be moving, but it was. I scrambled like a linebacker to the front door, flew it open and spied my little two year old brother Donnie behind the wheel. He appeared like a 92 year old widowed driver all hair and knuckles behind the wheel. He was really enjoying the moment.

He was cranking the wide, black steering wheel back and forth. He used the seat like a trampoline jumping up and down. He was shifting gears like he owned an Indy driver.

The Chevy picked up speed by the lay of the land and the sloop of the driveway. He was still wheeling and shifting, in his glory, eyes wide, mouth howling with laughter.

I skipped the stairs and pounced on the outside door. If you know the '52 Chev sedan the door is a princess to open. First your knuckles get crunched by the panel, then the latch is a hasty rusty maiden, if you do not push in unlatch then pull out it will shake, rattle and roll, but will not open. I know this car well. I have lost a fair bit of skin and chipped the odd nail trying to open the door. As I reached out I calculated the steps to open it, success. I flung the door back. With a single minded desperate effort my hand reached way down to the break.

Arg and double arg, as we crashed through the newly built slated-fence. The car wheezed to a stop. Donnie was not happy he wanted to go more. My mom looked out of the kitchen window, nodded and went back to building supper for her family. She never mentioned the incident. We did not go driving for a good long time after that.

We shopped for a van. We found the perfect vehicle, a Chevy long Van. We converted it into a wheelchair accessible van with an automatic lift. My mom now had wheels, she could go places once again, I was her driver once more.