Fast Cars

   
                                                                                         Fast Cars


   Poppa said I can’t see him. Said it’s because I’m too young, so I am under the pagoda at the park, waiting for him away from the house, where Poppa can’t see. 
   
   
   I think it’s really because TJ has a fast car, the reason Poppa won’t let me see him. Daddy had a fast car once. I’ve seen pictures of it, “black and whites” of him and Momma when they were young, when they were my age in fact, fifteen and sixteen.
   

   I hear the fast car before I can see it. It rumbles so that the pagoda shakes beneath me. I can feel it in my chest, that rumble. It is frightening, and thrilling.
   

   He pulls the car up over the curb and into the grass, pulls it up to the very steps of the pagoda. He reaches across and pushes the door open. “Come on!” He is smiling. It is a wild smile. He is a wild boy. I skitter down the steps and into the passenger seat.
   
   
   The car smells of steel, gasoline and oil, of “boy things”. It smells like Poppa. Its 

exhaust is strong. It makes me light-headed until he pulls carefully off of the curb and 

onto the pavement before accelerating onto the highway.
   


   Momma is dead. I have left my younger sister with my friend Celia. I am only hoping 

that Caroline won’t mention it to Poppa. I have threatened her with death in fact, but she 

will probably tell anyways, at which point I will kill her, as promised. Caroline is five years 

old. Momma died when she was born. Caroline is my life and my world. I won’t “really” 

kill her.
   


   TJ is doing the 50 MPH speed limit, but the wind is whipping inside the car so that 

speaking is difficult. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I yell to him over the roars of engine 

and wind.
   


   TJ smiles. “I can take you back.”
   

  
   “No! I don’t want to go back! Say, I thought this car was supposed to be fast?”



   TJ didn’t look over this time. These were the exact words he has been waiting to hear. 

He pushes the accelerator closer to the floor. The Coupe did what it does. The rough, 

slow idle smooths out as firing pistons machine-gun the car forward. Inertia 

pushes me back into my seat. I glance nervously over at TJ. He is still smiling, his eyes 

on the road, elbows bent, his left hand easy on the steering wheel. A glance at the 

speedometer shows 85 MPH. TJ looks over at me. I wish he would look at the road, 

instead. “You good?” He asks.
   

   
   I give him my most wicked smile, “YES!” I am wild too.
   


   TJ slams the accelerator to the floor this time. I close my eyes and shout with delight, 

“WOOOOHOOOOOO!” It is like TJ is Aladdin, and we are on a magic ride. We fly over hills, 

butterflies tickling nervous stomachs that are never quite sure what is over the next rise. 

There is danger in the speed, and there is freedom in the danger. For the first time in my 

life there is no adult to tell me to slow down, no little sister crying beside me, or calling my 

name. With my eyes closed, hands gripping the dash, roaring engines and hot, whipping winds 

whirling around me I feel an exhilaration I have never experienced. I want to hold on to 

this feeling, this euphoria forever. At this moment I do not care if the car crashes. I do 

not care about anything but the thrill of being young, and unafraid. TJ is taking the 

sharpest turns at incredible speeds. I hold tight to the dash to keep from being thrown 

into his lap. Finally he lets off the throttle. I sense his body relaxing. His downshifting 

pushes me to the front of my seat. I remembered the same sensation, the same 

forgotten disappointment I had felt as a young girl when the carnival ride was winding 

down, the excitement ending.



   And I felt something else for the first time. The question I had to ask myself was this, 

“was this strangely exciting thrill that was building up inside me for the boy, or was it for 

his fast car?”

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