The Blue Bomb. I don’t recall who first came up with that name but it certainly fit. Blue was tough. She made it through some very rough, very abusive times. She held up through the worst (what I hope was the worst) of my drinking. She could take a beating and just keep on going. Everyone has a breaking point though I suppose. Blue’s breaking point was still a few years in the distance though back then.

Blue was my first car. A 1988 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Complete with an AM/FM radio, power windows and an oil leak. You have to keep in mind that this was the winter of 1996. Blue was only eight years old, so don’t picture her as a beat up old thing. At least not yet anyway.

I pulled up to my friend Joshua Tank’s house in Blue. I honked a few times before Tank and Bob made their way out to the car in hung-over fashion. We’d had a long one the night before and we were ready to tie on another. Tank was the biggest guy in our crew, though only in width. As if to confirm this, Blue let out a low squeak when he got in. Bob was the whitest Mexican you’d ever met if you were looking at attitude and haircut instead of heritage.

Next stop was the Gas-n-Go for a little “Hair of the Dog” for the trip. I threw Tank the keys so he could open the trunk while I got the beer. I grabbed a bottle of Southern Comfort along with the other “road snacks”, threw everything in the cooler, shut the trunk and hopped in the car.

“Where’s the keys man?” I asked Tank. His answer was a resounding “Uh-oh.”

I of course possessed no spare keys and we were, for some reason, in a big hurry to get to a party in Ely. Anyone who has ever been to Ely, Nevada will tell you that there’s no reason whatsoever to be in a hurry to get there. Yet, we needed to get 187 miles to Ely soon not to mention the fact that there was booze in that trunk. So, Bob began prying on the trunk with a crowbar, (crowbar in the back seat and beer in the trunk. Don’t ask.) I tried to see if the trunk could be accessed through the back seat and Tank tried to force the ignition to turn.

So, with the Blue Bomb now able to start without a key we bought more beer and headed out. Other than the horrible snowstorm we were driving through all went well the first hundred miles or so. Then I heard a POP! I hobbled Blue over to the side of the lonely highway and simply lowered my head in frustration when I remembered the trunk situation. Grabbing the crowbar once again we got out into the snow and wind and Bob returned to his post as pry man. After about twenty minutes the trunk was opened, the tire was replaced, the trunk was bungeed shut and we had a bottle of SoCo to warm us up.

The party was good even though Ely people like to use tires for their bonfires. The resulting smell of which, is like a combination of singed hair on a wet dog and sulfur. I threw my blown tire in the heap and we drank until four in the morning before leaving to find a motel for a few hours. We weren’t even off the dirt road before the whole back end of the Blue Bomb was shaking. Dreading what I already knew, I got out and saw that both rear tires, the left rear and the spare we had recently put on, were flat. Out of sheer frustration (and too much alcohol) I proceeded kicking in the grill of my car. After all, it was the car’s fault I went drunkenly boonie-stomping right?

We walked about ten miles into town rolling the tires along as we went since they looked repairable this time. We waited until a tire shop opened and were lucky enough to see one of the guys from last night’s party was an employee there. In the first real luck of the weekend he fixed us up free of charge. We replaced the tires and immediately hit the road, vowing to stay the heck away from Ely for a long time.

The weather had cleared up and we were maybe only 20 miles from home when karma reared its ugly head once again. We were doing about 70 mph when the hood flew open, blinding our view. I managed to keep the car under control even as I joined the rest of Blue’s occupants in screaming my head off. Looking like Chris Farley and David Spade in "Tommy Boy" we somehow got to the side of the highway unscathed.

I treated Blue better from that day on, though I can’t say I gave my liver the same courtesy. After a while my drinking left me with the Blue Bomb as my home. Thanks to keys no longer being a necessity to start her, eventually someone stole Blue. Someone stole my “house”.

I now own a 1986 of same make and model that was poorly mistreated by a previous owner some years ago. It’s green. I call it the Tank.

Billy came running out of the bank. In his left hand was the now bulging duffle bag and in the right, his trusted Tommy gun. “Start the car!!!”, he shouted as he glanced back over his shoulder. Jane turned the key in the ignition and the powerful V8 Mustang sprang to life. Billy jumped into the back seat. “Go, go ,go!!” He turned in the seat, covering their rear with his gun. The wheels spun sending debris flying.

“Drive like the wind!!” Jane felt like she was going to push the accelerator through the floorboard. From nowhere sirens started blaring and the next moment Billy opened fire. The cops answered the gunshots and Jane could hear bullets slamming into the bodywork around her. “There are two coppers on our tail, hang a sharp left!” Jane pulled on the steering with all her might - the Mustang was a heavy car but she knew the cops wouldn’t be able to outrun them. “Are they gaining on us?” She turned her head towards Billy just in time to see him get hit in the forearm.

“I’m hit!” Billy quickly tore a strip from his shirt and bound the wound. “Now you’re gonna get it!” He was shouting at the cops. He opened fire again. “Got one! It made a full barrel roll!!” The police car burst into flames. Jane turned in her seat to look at Billy’s arm. “Hey, you must steer!..” She quickly grabbed the wheel again.

“We’ve lost him” Billy shouted after firing at the remaining car without even aiming. “I must have hit the driver because the car has stopped.” Billy climbed over to the front passenger seat. “We can go to the hideout and split the bounty”. Jane turned the wheel and moments later brought the car to a screeching halt.

They sat on the hood for a while with the unopened bag between them. “Wow, that was fun.” Billy opened the bag and took out a chocolate bar, broke it in half and after inspecting both pieces handed the smaller one to Jane. “Why do I get the smaller piece?” Jane’s eyes started tearing up.
“Because I did the most of the work.” Billy bit down into the soft dark delight.
“Ok, but I get to choose the next sweet.” Jane’s cheeks were already sticky and brown and she had to hold one hand under her chin keeping the chocolate from dripping onto her dress.

“Billyyy ! Jaaaane!” The shiny Mustang started turning into being old and rusty.The bullet holes disappeared with the tires and windscreen. The blood on the bandage vanished and the Tommy gun turned into a broomstick.

“Dinner Tiiime”

Billy looked up at the house where minutes ago the bank had been.
“Dad is gonna kill us when he sees the sweets are missing.” Billy wiped his hands on his trousers and jumped of the car. Jane slid off the dented bonnet. “I think mom is the one you have to worry about, she's going to have a fit when she sees what you’ve done to your shirt.”
Billy looked down at the piece of material now lying in the dust and shrugged his shoulders.

“Tomorrow you’re the cop and I’m the crook.” Billy started jogging towards the kitchen door, kicking at the paper box that, minutes before, had been a flaming police car.

“No, tomorrow it’s my turn to say what we play, and I say the car is going to be a carriage and I’m gonna be a princess. You can be the knight that rescues me from the bandits” ……

The old 1967 Mustang had been through a lot since the day it rolled of the factory floor, but never had this, now rusty and dented old car, provided so much magical fun to anybody else other than Billy and Jane.

My grandparents had raised me after my parents died. My soft spoken beautiful grandmother, with elegant silver hair, and lively blue eyes. Her keen sense of humor made everyone love her. She had been devoted to my grandfather until he died. She never talked about herself and the thought had never entered my mind that my grandmother had a life before she met him. I had never asked.

I had lost my first job and having to ask my grandmother if I could come home was devastating for me. I moped around the house and grandma tried to encourage me to get out and try again, but I was certain that my failed attempt at independence signaled the end of the world and not having a car did not help.

“Nancy, will you go up to the attic and get that old picture album in the steamer trunk for me? ”
Still in pajamas I trudged up the attic stairs. The attic held a lifetime of collected memories. Old furniture, pictures and the battered steamer trunk with faded peeling stickers. I opened the lid and found the album and took it downstairs to her.
“Come sit with me please.”
“I’m tired. Can we do this another time?”
“Sit!” I seldom heard that tone and obediently sat.
“Nancy you may not be interested in these old pictures, but I won’t be around much longer and I want you to know something about me before that day comes.”

She leafed through the pages of pictures until she came to a picture of an old car.
“What a ratty looking car. Did this belong to grandpa?”
“No, it was mine before I met him.”grandma said smiling.
“It was your car? I can’t imagine you ever driving a old heap like that.” I snorted
“You shouldn’t talk about Sally that way. If it weren’t for her, I would never have met your grandfather.”
“Tell me why grandma.”
Then she began telling me the story of Sally.
----------------------------------------------------------
My parents died when I was seventeen and having no place to go, I had to find a job or go hungry. My parents left me with this 1954 Chevrolet convertible, and it was the only home and transportation I had for a long time. The seat springs stuck out, so I stuffed rags into the holes and covered them with blankets. The blue paint was peeling, the sides were battered, the tires were bald and the windshield was cracked. The broken tail-lights were taped over with red plastic. The top was rotted out and wouldn’t go down. I glued a large canvas laundry bag over the hole in the top. The name “Mission Linen Laundry” advertised wherever we went. The license plate was attached with baling wire. Only two things worked; the radio and the lights. I don’t remember why I named her Sally, but my life depended on her.

I worked different jobs in many places and eventually, Sally and I landed in Las Vegas and I found a tiny apartment.
“Did you meet grandpa there?” I asked.
“ I’m getting to it.”she smiled, then continued.
I had been in contact with you’re great-aunt who lived in San Diego. She invited me to visit, so I packed up Sally and we started driving.

When we crossed the California line, it began to rain buckets and it was pitch dark. The canvas patch stretched and filled with water until it was pushing at the top of my head. Water was seeping through the cracked windshield and broken heater and flooding the floor. I was on a stretch of deserted road, so I kept going.

“Wow.” I exclaimed.

The rain finally stopped, and about the same time, flashing red lights came on from behind. I pulled over and a highway patrol officer approached the car. He looked at me behind the bright beam of his flashlight.
“License and registration please. I noticed that your license plate is wired on. I have to check and see if the car is stolen.” he told me.

Well, I started to giggle. “Do you think anyone would want to steal this car?” He smiled and that is when the canvas gave way and twenty gallons of water dumped on my head and sloshed through the window, soaking the front of his uniform. There I sat with the soggy canvas draped over my head and I started to cry.
“Miss, come out of the car.”he told me. I opened the door and water shot out from the floor board, soaking his boots and pants.
“I was sure that I was going to jail.”
“Did he take you to jail?”
The old woman’s tear filled eyes smiled remembering.
“No, he put me in the patrol car and took me to a diner for hot coffee and to get dry.”
“When did you meet grandpa? I asked.
“Come with me.”

I followed my grandmother out to the shed at the back of the yard. She opened the doors and there was Sally, restored back to a new glory.
“Your grandfather was that highway patrol officer.” Handing me the car keys, she said,
“Sally is yours. Its time you found a job and I hope she brings you as much happiness as she brought me.”

I drove off the next morning, knowing I would make it now. Sally and me together.

Where do I start, I was assembled in America, hand made, black all around, with a carbon finish and an interior of blood red leather. I was built for the elite of this world. My first was a man named Kryt, he was a technician of some sort. Together we ravaged the test track, I passed my tests with flying colors. I had no faulty parts, everything was in place and working perfectly in sync, like clockwork. My gears were lubed and strong, I was a stallion. Kryt drove me off the track straight to my new owner's house, Kimberly Casiano.



Ms Casiano was one of the big guys in the company, and I was the graduation gift to her son. Ohh what a day that was, the day that we met. I remember every second of it as if it were just yesterday. The smile on Juan Juniors face when he first laid eyes on me. It was love at first sight, I tell you, love in its truest forms. He jumped and yelled with excitement as I sang my gargling tune. Gear after gear we zoomed through traffic, dancing on the roads. Junior and I, what great times we had.



No other, foreign or local could best me, we galloped with grace surpassing anyone who dared to challenge us. Four years I carried him to and from university. Four marvelous years I turned heads where ever I went. And Junior and I, we went everywhere.



In this life unfortunately everything ends, even the good times. After the fourth year Junior graduated and that day when we entered the drive way, yet another gift was waiting for him. This gift was shipped from all the way across the world and stood right where I was four years past. That look on his face, that look of unfathomable happiness it happened again. If I had a heart it would be broken. From then on, everything changed.

I was a free stallion roaming the roads, galloping for miles and miles. Now what am I? I sit alone in this dark garage, nothing to do all day. Weeks and months pass at a time, before I see any light. I hear Junior’s voice every once in a while from outside the garage. But he stopped seeing me. I don’t even get washed anymore. What a life this is, passes like the blink of an eye. Now my paint is peeling, my leather is wrinkled, my lights don’t work, my gears are stiff and my tiers are worn out. What a life this is.

Today is the day I graduate from high school and tomorrow is the day I get my new car.
All year I have been saving my money hoping Dad would keep his promise to match what ever I have saved cause I’m going to need it. I had saved almost one thousand dollars but then Sonja finally agreed to go out with me, and well I had to make it special and four hundred dollars later I still went home alone. I hate girls.

I woke up early, a little to early for dad it seemed. I think he was enjoying watching me squirm while he sat there slowly eating his toast and sipping on his coffee. I just couldn’t wait any longer and screamed. "Dad come on! Its time to go! The car yard has been open for almost an hour. What if somebody else buys my car". He just looked at me and said with a smirk."But you don’t even have one picked out yet".

We walked around the car yard for almost an hour, looking and sitting in nearly every car on the lot but they were all to expensive, or too old. I couldn’t believe that my car wasn’t here after all that saving and with dad's half. I had twelve hundred to spend and nothing to spend it on. This is the worst day of my life.

Feeling a little depressed I decided to walk home. I liked this side of town. It was much older than the new suburbs that we live in. The trees are huge here and they spread out so much that they intertwine from the roadside edges making a tunnel. My dad hates driving through here he says it scares the crap out him. This sometimes makes me laugh a little too loud and dad would give me the stare. He said there were a lot of killings on this side of town when he was a kid but he never really told me much more than that. But then, I was almost always smiling when he was telling me, I couldn’t help it. Anyway, I still like this part of town.

I was nearing the end of the treed tunnel where the river used to run. It has long since dried up leaving a sandy riverbed behind. I stood on the old rickety bridge staring down at the pure white sand for what seemed like forever. I was about to walk off when I saw it! I knew right from that instant that it was the roof of my car.

Getting down to the sandy riverbed wasn’t to hard but coming back up with a car wouldn’t easy. First things first I will need some gear to dig this baby out of the sand, and some thing to pull it up the fairly steep bank which is about thirteen foot high. I’ll come back tomorrow with a plan.

I had to sneak out of the house early in the morning cause Dad doesn’t allow anyone to touch his climbing gear, and I need a good strong rope that I can feed through the winch.
The sun wasn’t quite up yet which I was thankful for cause this digging is hot work, but I’m almost done. With the hook nice and firm on the underneath of the car I started winding the winch. It took almost an hour to get the car up on flat ground where I could really admire my find. My first car. I couldn’t believe that there was absolutely no rust even the tires look good. It must have been in there before the river dried or it wouldn’t have been covered in sand. My Dad said the river dried up when he was a kid about my age, not long after all the killings stopped. I don’t know why I always smiled or laughed when he talked about them. I mean I’m not a sadist or anything it just he always makes it sound so mysterious, like he said that the killer was never found and the bodies were drained of all fluids. That is usually where I lose it, thinking that Dracula had come to town. Well of cause I never believed him, I mean who would?

After getting all the rope and gear bundled up and into the car I thought, I wonder if it will start. I really doubted that it would after being buried in the sand for so long but then I would have thought it to be all rusty too. I reached down to the ignition and was surprised to find a very ornate key already to go. I thought well there is only one way to find out if it will start. I grabbed the key and turned it hooking my fingers on the sharp protrusions of the key, I could feel the blood running down to the tips of my fingers but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't let go. Then it happened! I felt the car starting to roll backward down the bank into the blood red sand. I looked in the rear vision mirror and all I could see were people screaming.

As the key is slipped into the ignition (the cumbersome digits bound in a crudely wound bandage) cumbersome digits twist it round to the on position. The engine turns over and roars into life. The pistons kick into action pushing and pulling like f**k as the driver presses his black leather steel toe-capped boot down eagerly on the accelerator, revving, while its partner lifts up on the clutch forcing the metal beast to roar once more, this time clawing its way forward, rubber grabbing rapaciously at the slippery road. The driver gives a whoop of delight in his fun fuelled exhilaration, his eyes wide, the teeth grinning of a madman almost mind f**ked, dribbling at the prospect of speed. The wheels spin endeavouring to find purchase on the sodden earth, as the driver grasps tight on the wheel like the helmsman guides a ship through an unforgiving storm.
The rain falls relentlessly from above, crashing upon the exterior of the car. Each little droplet creates a tiny water explosion, a fraction of a second from the next.

"Go, go, go!" yells the passenger of the red mustang encouraging the driver to push the car to its limits. "Let's open this baby up and see what she can do."

Each and every inch of the road draws closer and then in the blinking of an eye passes by as the mustang rips its way along the road of destiny. The machine growls for more fuel as the thirsty engine works overtime. Gallons of petrol are consumed within minutes simply for the pleasure of the occupants.

“Right, Jack, just remember there's a tight corner coming up here.” The passenger spoke with a certain amount of concern. Although he tried his best not to show it, his white knuckles gave the game away as his hands gripped their vice-like grip on the seat.

Jack's best friend hated cars. To be more precise, Jack hated cars being driven too fast by morons who showed no respect for the road or other road users. Too many people have been turned into just another statistic of a road traffic accident due to maniacal driving. The possible disregard for road safety coupled with lack of concern for human preservation was, at this moment, preying on Tom’s mind, ever so slightly.

“No probs, Tom,” A big grin from Jack revealed three of the largest golden teeth ever to disgrace a mouth. “Just you hold on to your pants.”

The mustang raced faster and faster as the corner approached, all four tyres gripping the road, pushing minute streams of rain water along through a precisely engineered route, out through the tiny ducts ensuring maximum grip on this speedy journey. Still the rain falls faster, heavier and it seems, bringing much darkness with it. The clouds shield any sun light that may have been left in this late afternoon.

“Careful now Jack. Let’s get through this in one piece. At least slow down a little.” Jack’s words seemed to have no impact on Tom and the boot was put down on the accelerator.

“We’ll be fine. Stop your moanin’.” Jack barked.

Mustang and the road, for a second became one.

“Feel the speed, Tom?”

The car and all its fashioned contours dispersed the air. The engine, oil, gas and all finely tuned worked in unison. The pistons gathered speed. So did Jack’s heart; the adrenalin coursed its speedy way through his body. His eyes grew wider, those three golden teeth supporting an inane grin. The internal combustion and compression in the engine mimicked the actions of Jack’s heart; the soft valves pumping blood, furiously around his body.

Faster and faster the car goes. Faster and faster the heart follows suit. Both pumping away. Both feeding their respective parts.

Blood surging. Petrol burning. Cogs rotating in perfect rhythm.

Tom lets out a scream as the car veers off its course for not more than a second before smashing dead on into a fence post.

Pistons pushing.
Heart thumping. Adrenalin flowing.
Lights flashing. Siren wailing.
“You’re going to be all right. We’re just going to take you to the hospital. You’ve been in a bad crash.”

“”What about Tom? Is Tom all right? Where’s Tom.” Jack could barely speak.

“Just relax.” A paramedic puts his hand, reassuringly on Jack’s chest.

“Where is he!?”

“I’m afraid your friend didn’t make it. He was dead when we arrived.”