A Tire Swing Story is a bite-sized "imagining" inspired by an object I discover while wandering. It could be a curbside trash gem or a message sprayed on a wall. A lost mitten, or an antique store find. Anything goes. I photograph the object and post them together, the story and its inspiration. There will be a new story every Monday and Wednesday. On Fridays, I'll discuss writing, life, love, and coffee. (In no particular order and maybe all at once.)

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Come on in and have a seat. Excuse the mess, I've never been much of a housekeeper. Can I get you something to drink? A soda? Or maybe you want something stronger? Think I've got some Irish whisky. How bout a little of that? Puts hair on your chest.

So. You want to know about my car. Ol' Beaut is what I call her. Course, back in the day, she was Beauty. 

Lola and I were married thirteen years when we got Beauty. Drove home one night and parked the new car in the driveway, and Lola came outta the house with her hands on her hips and said: "Francis, what have you done?" Course, I knew she wasn't really mad by the way her lips kept wanting to smile, you know? 

We used to go out on the weekends, driving down to the beach, me and Lola and our three little ones in the back. And I can remember Lola had this silky scarf the color of butter and she used to tie it under her chin when we drove, just like Elizabeth Taylor. 

And sometimes when the kids were in bed, me an Lola used to sneak out to the driveway and into that car. 

Awh shoot, you're not here to talk about this. The whisky's making me sentimental. That's why I don't drink much. I do, and my eyes just start a leaking. 

See, there's not a day goes by I don't miss Lola. Course she was gone from me long before she actually went. She had Alzheimer's. Terrible thing, that. 

When she got real bad near the end and had to stay at Garden Gate Rest Home, nothing got through to her. She'd get real agitated when me and the kids came round, cause she no longer knew us. 

But there's one thing that calmed Lola down, and that was riding in Ol' Beaut. If I could manage to get her out of Garden Gate for a few hours, and onto the open road, she'd get a real peaceful smile on her face. She loved to have the window down and the wind blowing her hair around. Sometimes she'd even hang her arm out the window, like she was trying to catch the wind in her hand. 

I've gone and run away with myself again, haven't I? 

Well, I really do thank you for coming out here, but I'm sure you've probably guessed by now, that I just can't sell that car. 

1 comment:

  1. Oh Brittany, this is absolutely heart wrenching. Once again, you have taken a photo of a very ordinary object and brought it to life. The thing about cars, is that I have ALWAYS felt they carried stories. When I was a little girl and would go to the junkyard with my father, I would crawl into the front seats of them wondering about the people and the lives of who owned them. You just brought one to life for me. Thank you for this.