No Seat Belt

Imagine you are 6 years old and going to Woodfield Mall with your parents. You leave the apartment with them, climb into the sports car, and crawl over the seat to the console between the two bucket seats. Your mom gets in on the right side of the car, and your dad gets behind the wheel of the orange sports car. You sit between them, happy to go for a ride in your daddy’s fast car.

You know it is an Opal GT because you’ve heard your parents call it that when talking to friends. You hope your dad will flip the headlights out with the lever, but it is daytime and headlights aren't needed. You watch his hand as he starts the engine.

You love sitting between them on the console and feeling the engine’s roar as your dad shifts gears. No one wears seat belts. You don’t have your own seat in the car. The console isn’t as comfortable as the back seat of the bigger car.

You watch his hands on the wheel and gear shift, his feet alternating on the pedals below the wheel. He guns the engine; you lurch with the motion, and your mom puts her arm behind your back so you don’t tumble backward. Your excitement builds as your dad weaves around other cars and enters the highway cloverleaf. You feel the car slide sideways on the curve as he maneuvers it around the arc onto the highway, then it slides again off the other cloverleaf. You hear Mom shouting, “Slow down, he isn’t in a seat!” You see him glance over your head at her, then he makes the car go even faster, drifting around the off-ramp cloverleaf.

You love it and holler, “Do it again, Daddy, do it again!” as he pulls into the shopping mall. You see the mad look your mom gives him, but he laughs and says, “Five minutes. We made it here in five minutes.”

You go into the mall with your parents. You get your kid-sized Orange Julius, an occasional treat, but you only want to sit on the front console between your parents and feel the engine roar and the car slide through the turns.

                 Copyright © 10/4/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin