The Old TruckIt is a bleak February day, gray and damp with a mist that sits heavy around the world, when we make the long drive to his childhood home, where the old Chevy sits under a grave blanket of snow, left to him by a man who has been gone for a long, hard decade already. With a tender touch and skilled hands, he works under the hood; then in the bed, removing last fall's leaves, which have kept her warm under all the ice and snow.The Old Truck by Goodbye-kitty975
One mighty shake and rumble later, the engine jumps to life. The frame creaks and groans, like some beast awakening from a deep slumber.
With a combination of strength and gentleness that is so uniquely his, he pats the cab and whispers, "That's my girl."
I find myself suddenly sentimental.
This is the truck that saw one lifelong romance through to the very end, and that played such an instrumental role in the blossoming of our own relationship. The memories flood through me with each turn of the motor.
Red bench seats, windows down, a crisp breeze blowing off the