The Brown Truck by Sarah Knuckles (red novels .txt) 📕

It had been a part of the family since the beginning. Paid in full, my father came home with a brand new truck, the color of mud, to his pregnant wife of one year. I, of course, was in the womb when the tiny GMC was brought home. Growing up, the little pick-up was pivotal in the safe transportation of my sisters and me to our ballet classes, our soccer practices, and our Saturday birthday parties. Its leather bench seat and boiling seat belts were the epitome of summer, causing us to melt in our play clothes. Our father worked hard and was not at home until late in the evening. Riding around in the brown truck was a delight, because that meant we got to be with him.

My sisters, both younger, do not have as many memories as I do in the brown truck, but it still means a lot to us. The truck meant long drives down dirt roads and snacks from the gas station to be eaten before we get home. They were our little secrets, for mother couldn’t know we had junk food before dinner. My dad would pile us all in-himself driving, next Rachel, three years my junior, next Anna, fourteen months my junior, and then myself. My father bought us matching sunglasses just for the truck, and we kept them inside the pocket of the passenger side door. Though purchased at a dollar store, we felt like Hollywood in our shades.

As we continued to grow, my father found it necessary to buy a bigger truck, an extended cab. A few years later, when I was 13, my mother announced that she was pregnant with the youngest and final Knuckles. The small truck sat ignored, making the occasional trips into town or to the dumpsters. Bitter with rust, it became a lawn ornament. My father refused to sell it, his second thought vehicle. My 17th birthday brought the revival of the trusty truck, though my parents fixed it up to the minimalistic degree. Now responsible for just the girls, the truck barely fit us. Our widened hips were not the former riders of yesteryear, but that was our ride to school. My second sister, Anna, called it “The Rolling Turd”, and it lived up to its name. That was my senior year, and the truck survived.

The truck remains in the yard now, with my sister and I having our own newer cars. You also have to change certain fuses, in the brown truck, regularly since the wiring is almost completely out of commission. Even though it is not worth the money we will put in it for the repairs, no other car will have the affection my family has for our old brown truck.

Publication Date: 01-28-2010

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To my Father