Chevy C-10: A Short Story
When I was in highschool, I had a ’65 Chevy C-10. That truck was my baby, and I had rebuilt it over several years with my dad. It had a monster of an engine, and definitely made heads turn. People could hear me coming from a mile away. However, the truck had some minor faults, like a non-functioning air conditioner or a couple dings in the paint. It wasn’t until I graduated that the engine reared its ugly head. As I was driving one summer day, the engine caught fire and I lost all of my work in a flash. Two weeks after I graduated highschool, I was working full-time at a fast food place. My main mode of transportation was my trusty C-10. I drove that truck every day and never had any serious problems. Fresh out of highschool, I never expected to have problems
…show more content…
Burn marks covered the inside of the hood, and all the wires had melted. The filter that normally sat atop the carburetor had come to a rest in between the exhaust pipe and the engine block. The radiator had begun leaking. All the labor and care we had put into the bay had been snuffed out. The engine was ruined. “What happened? I know you said it was running hot, but this is hotter than I expected.” Even in this tense moment, my dad cracked a joke. My mom was still panicking about the fact that I had almost died, and my twin sister had come outside to see what was going on. I hung my head low, arms dangling at my sides, and holding the fire extinguisher by the hose. I was safe, but it felt like something inside of me had died. We tried to save what we could, but the damage was too severe to recover from within our budget. There are still burn marks on the parking lot where it stood, a permanent reminder of tragedy. I sold my pride and joy, the loud orange beast that had represented me. I had put so many hours into rebuilding it, and that time had been lost within a matter of five minutes. I was just happy I walked away with my
Burn marks covered the inside of the hood, and all the wires had melted. The filter that normally sat atop the carburetor had come to a rest in between the exhaust pipe and the engine block. The radiator had begun leaking. All the labor and care we had put into the bay had been snuffed out. The engine was ruined. “What happened? I know you said it was running hot, but this is hotter than I expected.” Even in this tense moment, my dad cracked a joke. My mom was still panicking about the fact that I had almost died, and my twin sister had come outside to see what was going on. I hung my head low, arms dangling at my sides, and holding the fire extinguisher by the hose. I was safe, but it felt like something inside of me had died. We tried to save what we could, but the damage was too severe to recover from within our budget. There are still burn marks on the parking lot where it stood, a permanent reminder of tragedy. I sold my pride and joy, the loud orange beast that had represented me. I had put so many hours into rebuilding it, and that time had been lost within a matter of five minutes. I was just happy I walked away with my