O'Connell Bridge - Pt. 17

LC sat in a lawn chair and dozed. He had a scheduled Saturday off. A privilege he got once a quarter. He had polished and cleaned his old truck and now he was sitting on the street in the town of Burgaw at a car show. He had all the statistics on his rebuild, printed courtesy of a clerk at the ER who copied all of his one page descriptions as an exchange for him changing the tire on her car early one morning.

“Sir, is this your truck?”

“Yes, ma’am.” LC woke out of his daze and tried to focus on the elderly woman standing near the front of the truck. “I started restoring it seven years ago, and recently finished.”

“My husband drove one,” she whispered. “Not the same color as this one.” She picked up the photo album LC had posted on a fender.

LC stood. He had a prepared story of the restore ready to go, so he started, “I found this 1966 body in a salvage yard.” He pointed to a picture in the album. “Set it up in my folks backyard and started sanding it and putting parts on it. I did a little at a time as I could afford it from my part time job sacking groceries while I was in high school, saved birthday money and gifts. I worked on it when I could, plus I had a lot of help from friends. I created a budget for each individual part and after finding an engine and transmission; my big purchases and massive work. I could drive it, and I did. I drove it to my brother’s backyard so I could more easily work on it. He lives in Castle Haynes and has a big garage with tools.”

“Yes, a massive effort, I would imagine,” the woman handed the album to LC and then ran a gloved hand over the wheel well. “It was probably once a hard working farm truck. Though my husband’s was green. You’ve painted this one red.”

LC felt almost guilty. “Red paint was on sale. And working on a strict budget, while I didn’t want to cut corners, I also wanted good paint. So I waited for the sale. I saw pictures of this model in blue and had hoped to paint it blue, but like I said, the red was more economical at the time.”

The older woman smiled. “I see. That’s wise investments.”

LC opened the door. “I recovered the seats myself, well, I found the materials and did all my own stitching. I kinda hung out around cutting shops and used a lot of scraps and what I could salvage”

“My. You do nice work. Is that your vocation?”

LC laughed. “No, it’s kind of a hobby. I learned to sew from my sisters and leatherwork I learned in Scouts. I started this project in high school and just graduated from UNCW; the truck has served me well and has been an ongoing project. Indeed, I used it a collateral when I entered college. So, I sorta have a truck loan. But, I am afraid I may have to park it awhile or even sell it when I head for med school soon. Oh, the truck wasn’t to this point until late last year. I pressured myself to get the best grades possible. So, the truck work had to stop, or at least slow down.”

The woman stared at him. “You said med school. That’s very commendable. High goals indeed. The medical profession is very important.”

“Thank you.”

The woman carefully touched the fabric and the dash. “You put in the vinyl here, too?”

“Yes, ma’am. All of the parts with the exception of some of the electrical and heavy work I personally did. It really helped me to,” he hesitated. “Well, it took my mind off issues.”

“Girl problems?” She smiled at LC.

“Mostly family.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend?”

LC felt his face warm. “Well, ma’am, I had a wonderful girlfriend, but she broke up with me not long ago. But, she never worked on the truck.”

“Hmmm? A project like this takes a great commitment.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looked at the rear end. “The frame appears straight. Surely you didn’t find it this way?”

LC felt his face warm. “No, it’s a different frame from the original body, but still a F-100. It was given to me by a Ford dealer who had one in a barn, and I had a friend who used his dad’s frame straightener to validate the frame. I guess that’s one of the things I didn’t personally do.”

“Interesting. The process of using the right people at the right time is important.” She walked into the light where LC could see her better. She was very slight in appearance in a plain gray dress, with little or no makeup, and wearing light blue athletic shoes. Her hair was tied back, although he noticed the grayish hair under her broad sun hat. LC guessed she was a local farm woman. Although, he observed, the way she carried herself was of one who had some kind of formal training. Her movements were slow and deliberate, almost poetic or dance like. And her speech was more cultured than most people he associated with and definitely not southern.

“You’re welcome to sit in it if you like,” LC offered, figuring it was a memory for the woman.

“Yes, thank you.” She pulled herself into the cab like a person who had done the identical movement a hundred times. She took her hat off at the same time she ducked into the truck and settled in. Her hair, LC noted was in a bun in the back. “This is nice. These seats are much softer than our old truck.” She put the hat on her lap.

“I imagine, the seats were out of a newer model, recovered and made to fit.”

After she got in the truck, LC noticed a small man watching her or simply staring down the street in their direction. He was standing under a shade tree.

LC stood outside the truck and looked in the cab. “The headliner isn’t original, of course.”

The woman lightly touched the overhead cloth. “I don’t believe we had one.”

“It was probably cardboard if you did.”

“Yes, I imagine so.” She closed the door and leaned back. “We didn’t have seatbelts either.”

“No, ma’am. I bolted those on almost last; sorta spoiled the integrity. I planned regular use of the truck on the street, so it was necessary.”

“I see you have put a modern radio in the truck as well.” She touched a finger on the face of the radio. “We had an AM radio.” She smiled. “Make’s your old truck modern.”

“Yes, ma’am. Like I said, I’m using the truck daily. But, I wanted a nice radio, so I gave up my little old television in trade for this better radio.”

“So, you don’t watch television?”

“My roommates have a big screen in the living room. I really don’t need one. I don’t watch much other than news and weather. Like I said, I maximize studying, and have a part time job. There’s not a lot of time for television.”

“I see.”

“Premed courses took an incredible amount of time.”

“Yes, so you said. Well, it’s good to see this truck on the road again. Ours served us many years. It was a stick shift, you know, and while I could drive it, it was uncomfortable for me. When I got married, I was teaching in town and drove an old Plymouth. It had a stick on the column. I see you have an automatic in this truck.”

“Yes, ma’am. I was lucky enough to find a transmission I could make fit with the motor and really rebuilt that part of the vehicle.”

“You did all that yourself?”

“Let’s say it was my idea and I did a great deal of the labor and design, but I had help from friends that made it possible.”

“I would think so,” she said. She leaned against the door. “You’ve done a marvelous job here. You deserve all the credit and praise you can gather. My heartfelt congratulations; you have done meticulous workmanship here. If you carry that trait forward in your career you will be successful in life.”

“Thank you. I certainly hope so.”

“You said you want to go to medical school.”

“Yes, ma’am. I have been preparing my school work in that direction and I’ve taken the medical school entrance tests.”

“And, those you passed?”

“I did better than average I was told.”

“You’ll do well. I can tell. But don’t neglect family. The older ones won’t always be here and the newest loves can be gone in the blink of an eye. Grab the girl you love and experience life together, don’t miss it. That’s important. Walk hand in hand through hardships and good times. Remember, God will always be there to comfort and guide you no matter what you do.” She paused and stared out the window. “I lost my husband much too early. I lost my children. I’ve outlived almost all of my family. I asked God why and He blessed me in other ways. However, unlike this old truck, we can’t put a new radio in the old body and bring it back. Mostly we rust and fall apart. Leave this truck to your son. It can be an heirloom. Remember, you can’t take it with you, and at some point all you have is the memory.” She opened the door and stepped out of the truck, like she had done a hundred times before. “Thank you for letting me sit and go on so in your truck. It brought back so many wonderful memories. I hope when you become a famous doctor you will drive it out to see me.”

“Ma’am, it would be my pleasure to drive the truck to your house anytime.”

She smiled and turned away. LC watched as she walked up the street and stopped to talk to the small man who appeared to be watching. Together, they walked on down the row of cars.

“Wow.”

He sat back down in his lawn chair and continued to watch the parade of people walking by. LC thought about the older woman’s lecture. “I fully expected her to say take me to O’Connell Bridge before I die.”

“Daydreaming LC?” Mac and Aideen were standing over him. Each had a drink in one hand and cotton candy in the other.

“Hey Mac, hey Aideen. Yeah, not much traffic. A few folks stopped by to take pictures. Several kids, all boys, ogled the engine. A couple of old farmers came by and made remarks about what I’ve done to a perfectly good truck; and one interesting older woman who was very nostalgic about the truck. Apparently her late husband owned one. That’s about it.”

“How long’s the car show? Aideen and I are going over to the fairgrounds for the demolition derby this evening.”

“I think the show goes till evening, but in a couple hours this showman and his truck are headed for Fourth Street. I don’t work tonight, but the hours are catching up with me. I’m dead on my feet. Oh, make that dead in a lawn chair.”

LC got back to the apartment before 3 PM, kicked off his shoes, and dropped his dirty clothes in a pile inside his door and fell into bed. He felt for his charger cord and plugged in his phone. He didn’t even look at the text message. “O’Connell Bridge.” Was the only text.

To be continued...