Restoring Dreams

“Krystal! Honey, honey! Come out here, come on!” I heard Mac yelling in the driveway and quickly dried my hands on the dish towel. I thought about grabbing the phone on the way out to call 911, but his voice sounded excited rather than in pain.

“Come on Krystal! You gotta see this!”

“OK, OK, Mac. I’m coming.” I stopped long enough to slip on some shoes so my feet wouldn’t freeze on the cold cement, but I figured I’d better forgo the hunt for a jacket until I saw what he was so excited about. Just as I opened the door, he came rushing up to me.

“Wait, wait.” He put his hands over my eyes then proceeded to walk me out the door and down the driveway. With a flourish he removed his hands and said “Ta-da!!”

As he had walked me, I imagined all kinds of things: a brand new car (a girl can dream, can’t she?), the antique desk that I’d hinted at for the past three months, a new washer and dryer or even a dog, which I kept saying I didn’t want, but in my heart-of-hearts knew that I did. Instead when he removed his hands I saw an old, beat-up, rusted hunk of a car that looked like it’s time of death was somewhere circa 1967.

I stared at the car, then at Mac, then at the car, then back at Mac. He kept grinning at me and nodding his head like he was a proud puppy that had just brought me his favorite toy. “What is that, Mac?”

“What do you mean what is that? That,” he pointed with both hands to the monstrosity, “is a 1958 Thunderbird!”

A few more seconds of staring on my part, then I finally said, “And?”

By the wounded look on his face you would have thought I’d just taken his favorite toy and ran it thru a wood chipper. “And? That’s all you can say? Krystal this car is a classic. It’s every little boys dream to own one of these!”

“Mac, this car is a piece of junk. I’m surprised you were able to drive it here in one piece. It’s 51-years-old!”

“Honey, I’m going to restore it. It’s got all of these original parts, and I’m going to shine everything up, replace things and make it look just like it did back in 1958.” His eyes danced and he kept rubbing his hands together.

“What do you know about restoring cars? You’re a computer programmer, not a mechanic.” I looked around and a thought occurred to me. “Where’s the Jeep?”

“I’m going to paint it midnight black.” He stroked the side of the car imagining the new paint job.

“Mac. Where is the Jeep?”

“It’s going to be the envy of every guy at the office.”

“Mac!”

“What?” he looked at me startled.

“Where is the Jeep?”

“Oh.” A sheepish look came over his face. “I…” he lowered his head down and mumbled into his chest.

“You what?”

“I traded it, Krystal. Ok?”

“OK? You traded our 10-year-old Jeep for this 51-year-old hunk of junk? Without asking me? Are you insane?”

He started to look around because my decibel level rose with each question. “Krystal, honey, calm down.”

“You expect me to calm down? Mac, you traded our Jeep for…that!” I gestured towards the offending vehicle. “We brought Molly home from the hospital in that Jeep. Hell, we almost conceived Molly in that Jeep. And now you want me to calm down? Well, I’ll tell you what I want Mac. I want you to get our Jeep back!”

“B-b-but Krystal! I don’t think-“

“No, buts Mac!” I started to turn on my heel to leave, but Mac caught my arm.

“Honey! Wait!” He turned me back around and pulled me towards the car. “Imagine this. The car is all shiny and new looking. We put on our leather jackets, roll down the windows and take a road trip. We’ll drop Molly off at your brother’s, and then we’ll hit the open road. It’ll be just like Danny and Sandy in Grease.”

“Mac! We are not Danny and Sandy. This is not 1958 and that car will never be Greased Lightning! Now, unless you want to know what it’s like to sleep on the couch for the next year, I suggest you take this car back to whomever you got it from and bring back our Jeep.”

“But-“

“Ah!” I snapped off his reply. “I don’t want to hear it Mac. I want our Jeep back.” This time when I turned to leave he didn’t stop me. I stomped back into the house and a few minutes later heard the death rattle of the Thunderbird, along with what I think was the muffler dragging the ground. I could not believe he traded our Jeep for that without asking me first. Mac was brilliant when it came to writing code and analyzing data streams, but sometimes I felt he was clueless about the social aspects of life. I tried to imagine him restoring a car, but the only picture that popped in my head was him crushed after the jack slipped. “Oh my God, Mac! What were you thinking?” I blew a wisp of hair out of my face.

I saw his face when he had presented the car to me and I felt a sudden pang of guilt. Apparently I was taking away his dream. He had looked so excited and animated when he talked about restoring the car. Was it really as bad as I had imagined it? I tried envisioning it as he had described, but I kept seeing the rusted door and the peeling paint. “Why did you do this Mac?”

Just then I heard the unmistakable sound of the engine that had just left a few minutes earlier. “No way. He did not just bring that thing back here?” I rushed out of the house as Mac was getting out of the Thunderbird. My pangs of guilt disappeared.

“What is this Mac? You’ve been gone all of five minutes maybe! Where is my Jeep?”

“You’re not getting your Jeep back Krystal.”

“What?” I said then stared at him dumbfounded.

“You’re not getting the Jeep back Krystal, because you’re getting this instead.” A brand new, blue BMW 325i pulled up in our driveway. Inside I could see my brother, Ron and my daughter, both with smiles on their faces as wide as the Cheshire cat’s.

The puzzled look on my face made everyone laugh. Molly flung open the door and came running over to me. “Mom, isn’t it cool? It smells so good in there. Uncle Ron said it’s the ‘new car’ smell.”

I looked over at Mac, “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind me trading in the Jeep for that, especially now that we can afford it since you are looking at DataLynks newest CIO.”

“You got the promotion?” I screeched.

“I did.”

I flew over to him and flung my arms around his neck. “Oh my God, Mac!” Molly joined us and we all did a group hug. “But what about that?” I asked pointing to the Thunderbird.

“That’s Ron’s. He’s the one restoring it.”

Ron came over, leaned against the old car and waved his permanently grease stained hands at me. “I work on other people’s cars during the day, so I might as well work on one for me on my time.”

“Now that makes sense!”

Mac once again pulled me along the driveway, but this time he took me over to the new BMW. “Do you still want me to go get the Jeep back?” he asked and dangled the key in front of my face.

“What Jeep?” I asked snatching the key and getting into the car like a giddy school girl.



Word Count 1309