Days of the V8 Chevy
by Barry Basden
Remember that rainy afternoon when you stood in the driveway and took a hammer to the windshield? I gripped the steering wheel tighter when water began to leak through the holes. The young cop later thought they were made by gunshots.
I unlocked the door and was out the other side by the time you got under the wheel and bounced the hammer off the passenger window instead of my head.
Standing there, I didn't feel the rain or the cold, but I saw the Chevy rock as its engine roared to life, and I heard the squeal of burning rubber as you slammed through the back of the carport and into the kitchen, pinning the refrigerator against the sink. Someone could have died that day.
But that's not the day. No, I'm thinking of one long before, when we pulled that Chevy off an empty country road, climbed a fence, and made love on a blanket in sun-dappled woods.
That's the day.
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BIO: Barry Basden writes mostly short pieces these days. Some have been published in various online and print venues. Some have not. He edits Camroc Press Review at www.camrocpressreview.com