I always knew it was a fast car. That's because it had a lightning bolt painted on each side. Yeah man, that meant it could practically fly.
Which, ironically, is what it ended up doing. Off that cliff. With Dad still in it. I imagine she flew beautifully.
(more) The landing probably less so.
I don't know if I should feel ashamed for admitting this, but after all these years I actually have a clearer image burned into my memory of that lightning bolt than I do of Dad's face. But that insignia held promise for me--of a life of adventure, excitement... or possibility. Dad, well he was just a cautionary tale. The ultimate one, as it turned out.
I think Mum was pretty surprised how upset I was at his funeral. She knew I hadn't had the easiest start in life, thanks to his drinking, and I think she was automatically projecting her own feelings of relief and hope for a new beginning onto me.
But I knew what I had lost when I saw that coffin lowered into the earth: inspiration, although my 6-year-old self wouldn't have called it that.
But none of that matters now. I've made up for that loss. Here I am, tearing down the coast highway at 150mph in my very own fire-engine-red Aston Martin V8 Vantage. Nothing can hold me back any more. Not with these fucking cool lightning bolts painted on the sides. (less)
