- 109
- OPTION_XIII
Alright, so this is my first story. A bit late, I know, but I figure there are still some people around here that might like reading it. It's a bit wordy, but I can't stand reading just dialogue. Here goes...
CHAPTER 1: Impulsive Decisions
CHAPTER 1: Impulsive Decisions
It was hot beyond belief. Even the relatively short bike ride from the pool to my house was torturous, and it wasn't like going there had cooled me off anyway – between the mass of bodies and the sun beating down, the water felt uncomfortably warm. I parked my bike in the garage and stumbled upstairs looking to find relief in the form of a cold shower.
Of course, the air conditioning had petered out right at the peak of the heat wave. All the windows in the house were open in a futile attempt to keep the house comfortable. As I was drying off and getting dressed, through the open window I could hear mom and an old family friend, Mrs. Kasnov, out on the deck and having an early evening chat. Even as far apart as they were in years, they got along extremely well.
“When does Mark get his license?”
“Actually, he's had it for over a year.” mom replied.
“My oh my, I've never even seen him drive with you, let alone by himself. Why doesn't he have a car yet? What was the point of getting the license if he doesn't get a car?”
“Well, Bryan (dad) has been looking for a car for him, but says he hasn't seen the right one.”
Of course he hasn't. Dad never springs for a deal, always being a cautious, cheap bastard who won't buy a cheap car because he doesn't trust it, but at the same time he's got too much Scottish blood in him to spend the money for a good used car. So in the meantime, I'm stuck waiting for one of his friends to decide they want a new car and give him a good deal on their old junker.
I had been browsing craigslist and the like myself, but it seems like everyone thinks their car is made of gold. I was looking for anything fun really – a 240SX, Miata, CRX, an old 3 series, maybe even one of those fugly Integras that seemed to fill half the spaces in the school parking lot. When I realized a fun car would most likely be out of my budget, I started looking at scooters and motorcycles as well. More of the same, people wanted $1K for a crapped out 50cc POS with parts falling off. I could easily pay that off with the money I'd saved, but I wasn't looking to get ripped off. Besides, any car I had brought to dad as a potential purchase was immediately cast aside as a bad deal or trap. It seemed I was doomed to bumming rides for my senior year of high school, from people whose parents had bought them almost new cars before they even got their learners permit.
Out on the deck they were still chatting, but had progressed to small talk about their own first cars. I heard Mrs. Kasnov say she would see if she couldn't find something as I walked out of my room and out the door to take off with a friend. At least his car had A/C.
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A few days later I came back from an outing with friends to find mom and dad at the table discussing something, but apparently it was a secret, because they hushed up when I walked in. Just as quickly as I walked in, I was shooed out and sent back on my way. I grabbed a half and half from the fridge and sat on the couch in the garage, waiting for permission to enter my own house. The door opened and I was beckoned inside.
Dad was on the phone, but he kept it brief and hung up shortly after. They both looked at eachother, then me.
“Oh 🤬, what is it now” was all I could think. Brace yourself, a fight might be coming along.
“Come with us.” Dad said.
They lead the way, walking out the front door and heading down the street. I was trying to think of anything mischievous or malicious I had done at the bottom of the cul-de-sac, but drew a blank. The way they walked didn't look like the march of two incensed parents, which put me at ease somewhat. Side by side they walked up to the Kasnov's door and rang the bell. So there we waited, somewhat awkwardly, for someone to answer the door. Still nothing.
Off to the left, the garage door began to open, and my parents made an about face and headed that way.
Behind the door was a familiar sight, the same old car under the same old car cover. As long as I had lived in this neighborhood and during the few times we had been to the Kasnov's house, I'd never seen that car move an inch. Standing beside it with one hand on the hood was Mrs. K, her eyes obviously red and misty. She wiped her eyes and composed herself, and looked right at me.
“Mark, I heard you were looking for a car.”
“Uh, yes ma'am, but I haven't had any luck so far.”
She gave a long pause and took a deep breath.
“This was my Jonathan's car. We got it for him for his senior year of college, brand new, right off the lot. It was his baby – he took great care of it while he could.”
I'd heard relatively little about Jonathan over the years. I knew he went to college, and only a few years later he had died. Some sort of a jetski accident, or something.
“I want you to have it, you remind me of him. He loved cars too, and l this was his pride and joy. Bruce (her husband) can tell you a lot more about it, but we both agreed it couldn't sit here any more. It's exactly the way he left it, although I did clean it once before we covered it up. He parked it here just for the weekend, but I suppose it has become stuck in that time...”
Eyes tearing up, she said she'd fetch the keys. I walked around the car, thinking about what she had said. I have to admit, most of my excitement came from the fact that I was finally going to find out what kind of car was under there. If the car was any good, they wouldn't be giving it to me, so I wasn't expecting much. The hood was long and low, the cabin tall, and a long sloping hatchback at the rear. The only thing I could think of was an M coupe, but there's no way that's what was hiding under there.
She returned quickly with a tissue in one hand and a set of keys and folder in the other.
“Well, go ahead, take off the cover.”
I reached under the front bumper, finding the elastic band that held the cover in place. I peeled back one corner, then the other, slowly rolling the cover further back until the entire car was exposed.
“Is this... an Isuzu?”
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“It's an Isuzu Impulse” dad said. He was leafing through the folder Mrs. K had handed him, no doubt full of documents relating to the car.
The tag on the windshield met my expectations. The car hadn't been registered since 1990, well before I was born. The setting sun was creeping into the garage, shining right on the dusty hood and into the cabin. Mrs. K took my hand and pressed the key into it.
“Well, go on, open it up, try it out.”
“Don't even try to start it Mark. The battery is long dead.”
I shook my head in disdain. How dumb did dad think I was? I reached for the door handle and slid the key into the lock. The door opened with no sag, but a mighty groan. Great, a junker. I slipped inside and shut the door behind me, winding the window down. It was comfortable, if a bit musty, and roomy in an 80's compact car kind of way. The shifter showed that there were five speeds on hand, giving me a bit of hope. The sightlines were clean and clear, thanks to the low beltline. I'd always gone by the motto “glassy is classy”, and loved the view from the inside. Then I looked at the odometer.
“Does it really have less than 60,000 miles on it?”
“No more than that” Mrs. K replied. “Like I said, he adored this car and took great care of it. The garage has always been heated in the winter, so it shouldn't have aged too badly.”
Under the steering wheel I found the hood release and gave it a tug. Dad propped the hood open and gave an audible grunt. Wanting to know what had made him react so poorly, I got out and ran to the front.
Nothing was visibly wrong, so I asked him what had him so concerned.
“I didn't know it was a turbo” was his quiet reply.
I looked again. Sure enough, there was all the plumbing and the turbo itself.
“Oh yes, Jonathan went to England with some friends after graduation. He came back with that new engine for the car, along with some other things. Bruce and him installed it not long before the accident, but you'd have to ask him about the details.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
“He went fishing with some friends. I don't think he wanted to see it be handed over. They put a lot of work into it together, but it never got finished.”
My parents and Mrs. K kept talking about Jonathan, eventually heading inside. I was simply transfixed by this sudden change of events. I walked around back and popped the hatch, admiring how the gas struts had long ago decided that they would never hold the hatch up well ever again. I pushed the hatch up and held it there myself. What I found left me awestruck.
There were four long boxes lying in back, all with “LOTUS” printed on them. Opening them up gave me a glimpse of four coilover struts, just barely visble in the fading light. So that's what she meant when she said they never finished the car.
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Some internet research taught me a lot about my new wheels. She was a standard 1987 Isuzu Impulse, converted to european turbo specs. I stumbled across this old commercial during my internet searches.
Apparently while in England, Jonathan had seen a few of the turbo versions and had to have one. Also, seeing as the 1988's and later had a Lotus tuned suspension, he bought that too. That folder full of documents held some faded receipts for a set of shocks and low mileage junkyard engine. Everything was crated and shipped here, and they installed the engine themselves. Even the body had gotten the european treatement. What's more, while I was rooting around in the Kasnov's garage, I stumbled across another greasy, grimy differential – what I assume is the matching LSD for the euro engine.
Time to get to work. I had been on a shopping trip the other day, getting the requisite oils, fluids, and supplies to bring the car back to life. I took dad's all inclusive mobile tool kit, piled it all into the Radio Flyer wagon, and skipped on down to the car's tomb of a garage. Over the next few days I would be cleaning out the entire fuel system, flushing all the oils and fluids, and whatever the car needed to run. I squirted some oil in the cylinders to lube up the old rings, installed new plugs, and turned the engine over by hand. It spun easily. Feeling hopeful, I cleaned off the old terminals and installed the new battery. The moment of truth was coming, it was time to try to start it.
Inside the car I flipped the key to the on position. The dash lit up, all the warning lights looking back at me waiting patiently for me to start the car. I flipped the key on and off a few times to build up fuel pressure, then braced myself.
“Here goes....”
The starter turned over, and over, and over, and finally caught with a bit of throttle. It would only run at 2,000 RPM at first, but the engine speed slowly started to come down. I let it idle for a few minutes to poke around and such, then shut it down to do some more work.
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