The Impala

 

I dreamed my mom and Greg gave me cherry red '68 Impala for my birthday. It was sitting in the garage, awaiting its maiden voyage, and I was pacing around the house, antsy, waiting for them to finish eating breakfast, so someone could film me firing it up and driving it for the first time. 

"Would someone mind taking my phone and, you know, doing the honors?" I asked my mom, who was in the living room eating a bowl of fruit.

"Sure, sweetie," she said, "just as soon as Greg gets done with his breakfast." He was also eating a bowl of fruit.

This was taking too long, so I went to round up some of my friends to go with me on my drive. My childhood friend Steve Waugh was available, and of course, Cousin Tim wanted to go. Why not, it was a big car, lots of room for passengers. 

But before we could go, Greg just had to make one small trip to the bank or someplace to get some money for gas. They wanted to give me a hundred dollar bill to fill up the tank for the first time. We all piled into the minivan, and away we went.

At the bank, I was eager to get out of the van, so I opened the door and stuck my foot out before he'd even pulled into the parking lot. It got wedged in between the tire and the curb, causing me to cry out:

"Back the car up! My foot is stuck!" 

He backed the car up several times, but each time my foot kept getting wedged because he would reverse directions again before I could retract it. It was like some video loop where they keep showing the same moment of some idiot doing something dumb on instant replay. "Let's see that again. Ouch. That looks painful."

After an eternity or so of this, we got the money from the ATM and were back on our way home. Greg and Mom decided to do something else, leaving me and my friends to do the eventful drive without their supervision. But again, some pressing detail had been overlooked, and we had to borrow the minivan to run down to the auto parts store to get some critical component.

As we arrived in front of the store, a black unmarked car with lights flashing blocked our way. There were some cops in tactical gear writing someone a ticket for parking too long in a 15 minute zone with a busted parking meter. We waited for them to finish and for the car to drive off, and we got out of the van and slowly pushed it into the spot. Apparently, the van had run out of gas waiting for the cops to write the ticket. 

We went in and got what we needed, a gauge or some accessory for the car, and then walked to a nearby mall. I don't know what reason we had for going there, other than to use up the rest of the 15 minutes on the broken parking meter, but there we were in the mall, sitting on some benches in the food court.

It was during the pandemic, so in order to maintain the illusion of a busy mall, and at the same time enforce social distancing, mannequins had been placed on the the benches, so that one wouldn't be able to sit next to another human being. As a prank, my friends and I decided to sit down on the benches and remain perfectly still, hoping to surprise some unsuspecting shoppers. 

It didn't work, because when we sat down, we found that it was we who were being pranked. The mannequins all came to life and started writhing around like zombies. It was too creepy, so we got out of there.

I'd like to say that I eventually got to jump in the '68, get on the freeway and open it up. I'd like to, but I can't. I don't remember that moment ever actually occurring. At some point we were on the freeway, yes, and possibly even in the Impala, but we were in the slow lane, and Luis Ramirez went whooshing by us in his '64, doing at least a hundred.