Blinded Freedom

The afternoon heat of a particularly lazy Sunday afternoon warmed my right arm as I rested it against the window of my dad’s old company car. The only reason I continued to fight the inevitable Sunday afternoon coma was the anticipation of a new form of independence. A novel source of freedom that I had been dreaming about for months. Reality snapped back into place as my head bumped against the warm Plexiglas, and the soon to be familiar sound of gravel being compacted by tires permeated my lethargy.

The owner of the used car lot practically opened my door for me as I fell out of my seat and into a sea of cars that all seemed to say, “I will never be this clean again – buy me!”. The recently shined collection of automobiles reflected the summer sunlight in a way that made me want to look away, but blindly run toward it at the same time. The thought humored me as a man with dark, greasy hair and a gregarious nature that I knew would last only as long as my dad was around sprinted towards us. He shook my hand and asked, “What are you here for son?”, in a seemingly prepubescent tone. I told him we were just looking around and he immediately went off on some tangent he thought was relevant and my dad seemed interested in. He talked extremely fast and walked even faster. We were racing past a row of used trucks when I saw it and immediately knew that destiny was colored red for that afternoon.

Time slowed to a crawl as I quickened my pace towards the scarlet 2003 Pontiac Grand Am that had caught my eye. Being a teenage guy, I knew I either wanted a pick up truck or some type of sports car going into this experience. My dad refused to help pay for gas if I decided on a truck and was fervently opposed to sports cars, so this hybrid between a sedan and my dream gave me hope. We looked it over and spent the next half hour test driving my physical manifestation of freedom throughout the nearby neighborhoods. The AC was ice cold, the radio was loud, and my heart was sold. I loved the way that the dashboard felt like it was having a seizure every time I pumped the brakes. In hindsight, that probably should have worried me a little more, but the mechanic was convinced it was natural and my ignorance was bliss.

The salesman virtually carried my dad through the door to talk finances while I got some alone time with my future ride. I had the realization that this was my first true adult decision. Apart from the obvious safety and economical requirements, my parents left the ultimate choice completely up to me. It was the first time in my life where I felt myself growing out of adolescence and into the realm of adulthood. I knew that this car was more than just a couple thousand pounds of metal and four rubber tires. The vehicle represented freedom, independence, space – everything that a rebellious teenager wanted.  I noticed my dad ambling towards me and remembered thinking to myself that he looked both relieved and worried at the same time. He tossed me the keys and uttered a tired, “See you at home.” I jumped into the drivers seat shaking with anticipation as I thrust the key into the ignition and heard nothing but the beautiful sound of a new door opening. I checked my mirrors, buckled my seatbelt, and pulled out of my car's old home. My mind raced with the dreams soon to be realized and the endless possibilities now available. I was torn between which of my friends and family I wanted to surprise first as my dashboard started beeping and the decision was made for me. The car slowed and I felt my catharsis regressing to a grinding disappointment. This was my first of many flirtations with what would soon be an endless love-hate relationship with that bright red dream.