My Project

The blast-furnace sun was rising on the July morning of my eighteenth year. I walked to the garage, on my last day of reign over it. My father, with the patience of a saint, had given me one month of solitude in that garage to finally complete the car I had been working on for two years. My pace increased as a smile of anticipation broke out on my face.

As the overhead door opened, the mixed perfume of gasoline, oil, grease, new rubber and fresh paint wafted toward me. This smell carried with it the promise of completion and proud success. It was dark and cool in the garage, like a cave holding a secret treasure. In the darkness, my eyes could see just the outline of the fierce beast waiting intently to come to life.

I switched on the humming fluorescent lights. To my left was the large workbench covered in tools, wires and carburetor parts. All around, tools were left in orderly disarray: sets of sockets, wrenches and screw-drivers left in groups, but not put away. To the right was my finished project: a 1968 Pontiac GTO.

It was the deep color of a pristine ruby, and where the light reflected you could see lustrous gold shining from underneath. I walked around the car, running my hand over the cool glassy body. The three-week-old paint, applied by my best friend, appeared fluid-like. It was like a pond on a calm day. Not a single ripple broke its surface. A gold and black stripe ran down each side of the car, starting and ending at each wheel well. This accentuated the body curves around the wheels and gave the car a narrow waistline. The bumpers, body moldings and mag wheels (everything that would normally be chrome) were a mirror surface in golden brass. I had worked part-time at an electro-plating company and found that a few cases of beer, put into the right hands, had produced wonderful results. The wide satin black tires looked like the huge paws of a tiger, waiting to give a sure-footed grip to whatever surface they ran on. Looking at this car gave the impression of motion, without even moving.

I opened the door and climbed inside. The pungent smell of new upholstery and leather surrounded me. The black leather seats and dashboard struck a contrast to the red and gold velvety materials that made up the ceiling, floor and door panels. In and under the dashboard were arrays of shiny gauges. It looked like the cockpit of a fighter jet. With mounting anticipation I gripped the steering wheel with one hand and the shifter with another. They had a smooth comfortable feel.

I put the key in the ignition. I took a deep breath. My heart stopped for what seemed like an eternity; had I done everything right? I turned the key. The starter made two groaning turns against the high compression of the motor. Then, the dragon of 455 cubic inches took a deep breath and roared to life. The feeling of elation sent a spasm up and down my spine. I wanted to shout. I wanted to jump in the air. Instead, a quiet, triumphant “yes” was all I uttered. Keeping a calm level head, I held the engine r.p.m.’s at 2000 for the initial break-in of my newly born dragon for twenty minutes. The glowing orange needles of all the gauges pointed to their proper readings. I pressed down on the clutch and effortlessly slid the shifter into reverse. The car made a clunk and gave a slight lurch, like a racehorse chomping at the bit. The raw power from the vibration I felt awed me.

I backed the car out of the garage, shut it down and got out. I looked at the mess left in the garage, and then at my watch. My father had told me many times that a man always does his best, no matter what he attempts, and always finishes what he starts. I had, for two years now, studied and planned the construction of the drive-train of my car with the meticulousness of a mechanical engineer. Every turn of a wrench and stroke of sandpaper had been done with the care of a true craftsman. I looked at my dragon- hearted steed and made my decision. I jumped back in with the relish of a newly dubbed knight. There was more than enough time to clean up the garage and abdicate my temporary kingdom before my father got home from work. First, I would have a little fun.