His Vision in White

He loaded it on the bed of his car hauler and strapped it down securely for the 3-hour journey. The paperwork was signed and the "valuables" removed. An out-dated, but well worn map book. A nearly new first aid kit, "For Life’s Little Mishaps" it said, removed from its home in the glove compartment; fortunately never needed.

She laughed at the old Four Aces-Best of Rock and Roll tape that they found in the stereo.  She began humming Mr. Sandman and Love is a Many Splendored Thing, wondering why it wasn’t a Merle Haggard tape instead. There were envelopes stuffed with yellowing receipts of the loving care the owner once bestowed upon his beauty. New tires, oil changes, factory service at the suggested intervals.

She provided the driver the colorful brochure describing the multitude of "luxury features" on the once expensive, Chrysler New Yorker; an automobile that turned heads back in 1991. Then the owner’s manual, a long overdue safety recall notice for the anti-lock braking system, along with a fist full of keys. Oh, one more thing, the remote locking device…the "clicker" she called it.

It was now official. The last remaining vehicle in her father’s fleet, this one going to charity as he had requested.

Remembering the day at the dealership when he bought her, she recalled talking him out of the Champagne color, saying it looked like "an old man’s car" and he settled for a vision in white. Until he was close to death, she never thought of her father as "old" and she didn’t want him driving something that made him look that way. "How silly" she now thinks.

As the tow truck started down the street, her tearful eyes shifted to the empty place on the driveway where his memories once stood. Returning slowly to the house, she quietly closed the front door and sobbed out loud.