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My Grandfather's Truck
Throwing myself back in time, I remember the day I saw my grandfather glowing of happiness. I’ve never seen him life that before, and I still haven’t. That day I can recall, was the one he finally bought something he really desired, a lobo pickup truck. He was deeply delighted about it, although, my family wasn’t that much. The only thing our eyes were able to see, was the truck was too uncomfortable and big for an eighty-year-old man. The seats were too solid, the floor was extremely high and the steering wheel was particularly stiff. Despite all these flaws, this pickup truck became more, my grandad’s best mate. Years were passing by. Suddenly, he turned ninety. His abilities weren’t the same anymore, he wasn’t that strong, he was smaller and weaker, he couldn’t see and hear as he used to. Riding the lobo turned from a relaxing activity to a huge challenge. Even though, my grandfather kept quiet about it, the truth came to light as he started confusing the traffic lights and ignoring the stop signs. Later, he was almost about to run over people in bikes or walking. We knew this had to stop. My father, mother, sister, grandmother, and mostly everyone around him tried to convince him to stop driving such a huge vehicle. Eventually, the most expected and feared day came. My grandad, while trying to park outside the market, crashed himself right into the big glass wall. We knew, his time has come, he had to leave his friend behind. My parents took the lobo away. I know he misses his lobo; it was more than a pickup truck for him, it was a time machine. Driving this big truck made him feel younger. While running it, time paused, the world stopped moving, nothing really mattered anymore just that simple moment in which he wasn’t a grown up man. Now, the only thing that connected him with his good old memories, is gone. My grandfather has to deal with something harder than losing a truck, his age. Today, the lobo is still parked outside my house and each time I see it; I can’t help an image coming to my mind. I look at the copilot window and I can notice a little girl, happy, with just a wish in mind, for her grandad to be eternal. The real thing is my grandfather is not the only one scared here. This truck is not a time machine just for him, but for me. I’m scared. Time is passing by. Someday, this pickup truck won’t be a time machine anymore, but a memory itself.
