By Susan Gibbons
Roy pulled the cover back and took a long look at Charlene. His heart pounded as he slid his hand along her backside. He figured she had rested long enough. “Wanna go for a spin, baby?”
Charlene was in pristine condition, with all original parts, right down to her factory color—hugger orange with twin white rally stripes. She was his dream car—a 1969 Camaro Z/28.
Roy gently slid the key into the ignition. As he pressed the accelerator, the muscle car roared to life, and the RPMs shot up. His whoop turned to nervous laughter as her engine revved. “You’re gonna behave, right, Charlene?”
He put a foot on the gas and another on the brake. The tires spun and smoked, and she burned rubber out of the driveway.
Traffic was backed up on the main road. Nowhere to pass. Charlene jerked as if in anticipation of a journey. Roy realized that he had kept her locked up in the garage for too long when she jumped the curb and headed up the sidewalk. Taking a hard left, she cut off cars and headed into oncoming traffic. Horns blared as the Camaro merged up the off-ramp.
“No, no, no—NOT the highway!” But apparently the lady had other plans. He knew the car’s mind was made up, and there was no stopping her now.
Charlene whipped into a sharp U-turn and went with the flow of traffic, knocking Roy to the passenger seat. As he positioned himself back behind the wheel, he heard a familiar sound. Black and white cruisers with their lights on invaded the rearview mirror. He was on their radar again.
The gas pedal went to the floor, and soon the speedometer was pegged out—one hundred twenty-five miles per hour.
“It’s fifty-five. Fifty-five!” Roy cried. But he wasn’t surprised. When he took Charlene out, it usually meant breaking the law. He furiously pumped the brake pedal without success while she weaved in and out of traffic, even passing on the berm. She was out of control—again.
Driving at this speed both excited and terrified Roy. The landscape became a blur. He figured they were heading to Los Angeles. It had been Charlene’s home before he’d bought her. She took every chance she could to go back there.
No longer hearing the police, and with nothing he could do at this point, Roy intertwined his fingers behind his head, leaned back, and enjoyed the ride. Before he knew it, a couple of hours had flown by, and he saw signs of L.A. and heard a helicopter above. Up ahead flashed dozens of blue and red lights.
Bracing himself, he yelled, “Roadblock! Stop it, Charlene! You’re going to get us killed.”
With that, the vehicle began to slow. She shifted into neutral. As she coasted, she revved it several times, like she wanted to risk it.
“That’s a good girl,” Roy patted the dashboard. “We need to stop before you hit all those cars in front of us.”
Charlene skidded to a halt a few feet in front of the barricade.
With guns drawn, officers surrounded Roy and Charlene.
“Get out of the vehicle with your hands up!”
Roy obeyed. They threw him across the hood, handcuffed him, and hauled him away.
Two officers escorted Roy into the courtroom and stood him before the judge’s bench.
“The Honorable Judge Leo Pertelli is now presiding. Please be seated.”
Roy’s palms were sweaty, and he was shaking. Last summer, he’d stood before the same judge for the same reason—twice.
“Again, Mr. Guzman? This is, what, your third citation?” Judge Pertelli shuffled his papers. “No seat belt, too, I see. You were clocked at one hundred twenty-five. That’s seventy over the speed limit. How do you plead?”
Roy shook his head. “The car. She took over. She has a mind of her—”
“I’m not asking for an explanation. Now, how do you plead?”
Roy spoke fast. “It wasn’t me. Charlene—”
The judge banged his gavel on his desk. “Boy, just one more time and we’ll see if a night in the city joint won’t help.” He looked Roy in the eye and asked, “You get my point?” Roy nodded. “Now. How. Do. You. Plead?”
“You don’t understand. I’m telling the truth, Your Honor. You can take my license, put me on wanted posters, but please, sir, don’t take my car.”
The judge scowled. “Bailiff, take him out and throw him in the slammer. Mr. Guzman, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, and you’d better have an answer for me.”
The following morning, Roy paid the impound fine and court costs.
As he sat in his car, he shook his head. “Charlene, girl, I’m going to lose you if you do that to me again. You must drive the speed limit on the highway. If you refuse, we have three options. One, you can go in the garage under a cover until I die, then you can go and do this to someone else. Two, I can sell you to some unknowing soul until he gets tired of you and possibly scraps you. Or three, no more highway driving. I’ll still take you out for drives, but under no circumstances will we ever go back onto the highway.”
Blinking back tears, Roy laid his head on the steering wheel. Charlene sputtered as she started up. No skid marks were left as they pulled out of the lot. She refused to let him take her out of second gear and made the steering near impossible for him.
But as they passed the exit ramp, Charlene popped it into neutral. Roy squeezed the steering wheel. He felt Charlene’s dejection. “It’ll be better this way, darling. I promise. It means more time together. Instead of it taking us two hours to get to Los Angeles, we’ll make a day of it. Okay, Charlene?”
Charlene’s engine rumbled, and Roy sighed.
Can you guess which song from the 1980's inspired this story? Share in the comments!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The car just wants to have fun.
She certainly does!
Poor Charlene! 😆
Beauties don’t being like to be told what to do. :)
Wow! What a ride! Is the song Girls Just Want to Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper?
Good guess but try again!
Love the idea of a disobedient car.
I Can’t Drive 55 by Sammy Hagar?
Absolutely correct! Congratulations!
You’re correct! If you’re a member of the Havok Horde, you’ll be automatically entered into a drawing for a $10 Amazon gift card at the end of the month.
What a wonderful personification of the car.