Joy (Part 2 of 3)

Harold’s heart leapt in his chest as he shifted into reverse and slowly backed out onto the street. He was careful to stay at a slow, quiet speed until he passed through the gates of his neighborhood. Winding down the window, he adjusted the side mirror.

“Did I just steal a car?” Harold whispered. “I just stole a car.”

A string of Mardi Gras beads hanging from the rearview mirror clacked loudly with the movement of the car. Harold tossed them into the seat beside him. He snaked through residential streets, finally starting to gain speed. As he merged onto the highway, he pressed his foot deeply into the gas pedal. Cool wind rushed in through the window. Harold’s body started to relax into the seat and he passed into the far left lane, poking at buttons on the radio. The stolen Chevelle whizzed past lines of other cars. He began to chuckle and the skin at the edges of his eyes softened and rippled.

Five exits passed before Harold got off the highway. He pulled into a parking lot and chose a space next to the small building in the middle of the lot. Bells jangled against the door as he entered. One customer stood at the counter. Harold looked around at the blank keys, key chains, and locks while he waited.

“Thisisabrasskey,youbuythreethefourthisfree. Wouldyouliketobuyakeychaintoday?” The man behind the counter barked out this much-repeated line in the rough voice of a native New Yorker. The transaction was finished and Harold stepped up to the counter.

“Harold,” the man exclaimed, pushing large rimmed glasses onto his nose. Harold tossed the dolphin keychain on the counter.

“Walter, I, um, borrowed a car.”

“You old dog,” Walter’s eyes grew round. “Want to copy those?” he asked.

“No.” Harold shook his head at the suggestion.

Walter called to the back of the store, “Hey, Bobby, I’m gonna take a break. You do front for a few.” The two walked out the door.

“Classic Chevelle, 1965.”

Walter whistled as he approached the car. “You remember the 60s, Slim?”

Harold nodded.

“Where’d you get ‘er?”

“My new neighbor. I just went over to look, and before I knew it I was on the highway.”

“Some old lady’s gonna be looking for you,” Walter laughed and clapped his friend on the back. “Can I drive?”

“She’s all yours, Walt,” Harold said, handing him the keys. The pair climbed into the car and Harold tossed the beads onto the floor. Walter eased the car back onto the highway. As the Chevelle carried them farther and farther away from town, the road became clearer and Walter pushed the speed. They laughed and talked a little about the good old days, but eventually they just listened to the sound of tires on pavement. The curves and straightaways of the highway smoothed both men’s tired faces. Car, driver, and passenger became a single unit, racing toward open sky.

Harold checked the clock. “Walt, it’s almost 9. I have to get back, Eloise is going to wonder.”

“Ah, the old ball and chain. And, ya never know. Maybe the cops’ll be waiting for ya too, you old dog.” Walter chuckled and pulled off the highway. The men climbed out and admired the Chevelle’s smooth body and angled front grill. “That’s one heck of a car,” Walter said, patting the hood of the car before walking back into the key shop. “Thanks for the ride, Harold. And, uh, you know my number if they give you one phone call from prison.”