The Polka-Dotted Jalopy

"Step away from the car!"

The young man, who had been peering through the windows of the strange looking automobile, looked up to see an old man standing next to him. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean any harm. I saw this from the road and what it was all about."

"You can take a step back away from it and see what it's all about," the older man said without trying to hide his irritation. He had a rag in his hand and it was obvious that he tended to it with great care. He stepped to the car and immediately wiped off the place where the young man had touched with his hand as he had leaned in to look closer.

"Really, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to touch it. It just looks so . .. . so different, so interesting." It wasn't like anything he had ever seen. It was in perfect condition - a bright blue car covered with different colored polka dots, each one shined and polished to perfection. "Why do you keep it up here, beside the garage, where no one can see it?"

The old man didn't say anything, so the kid tried again. "It looks awesome. How come I've never seen it on the road."

The old man grunted, he just wanted the intruder to leave, so he said without looking at him, "It stays just where it is."

"Why?"

The old man finally turned at him in anger. "Why? Why? Because I've seen how you kids are on the road. You're all over the place. You don't know where you're going and you don't care how to get there." They ruin everything, he thought. He suddenly noticed a smudge on one of the dots. "Did you touch this?" he demanded.

The young man wasn't sure. He may have, and he didn't want to lie. So he just stood there, looking sheepish. How did this old man know if he touched it or not?

"Why can't you leave well enough alone," the old man muttered, pushing him aside to get to another dot.

Now it was the young man's turn to get angry. "Is it well enough? Is it well at all? I've never seen it on the road. I've never seen it anywhere. You think something this well-maintained would be seen out there, somewhere, that you would at least want others to see it. What does it do - does it even have an engine?"

"It has what it needs to have and it does what it needs to do."

"I bet it doesn't!" The young man boldly went to the front and popped the hood open. The old man had rushed along beside him to stop him, but found himself staring along with the young man, straight down to the ground beneath it. There was nothing - just some rusty wires hanging loosely and a few bolts sticking out.

"Just as I thought, there's not even an engine. This thing doesn't go anywhere because it can't!"

The old man didn't know what to say at first - he was just as shocked. All these years and there wasn't even an engine? How did he not know that? But he couldn't let the kid know that he didn't know the engine was gone, so he said, "Just get away. Seriously, or I'll call the police. You're on private property."

But the kid wouldn't leave. He was suddenly even more fascinated by the whole scenario. "Have you ever even driven it?"

"I've driven it. Plenty of times," he said, somewhat nostalgically.

"When was the last time?"

The old man shut the hood and began polishing the front dots. He didn't say anything for awhile, meticulously checking every one for the slightest sign of a smear or a stain. Then he paused. When was the last time I drove this? He couldn't remember, but he wasn't about to let this punk kid know that. "It's none of your business."

The kid looked at the old man with pity. "You missed a spot," he said, more with compassion than sarcasm. Then he walked away.

The old man suddenly felt a pang of loss. He wanted to call out to him, to tell him that he could come back. But what was the point? So he yelled again. "Like I said, it's none of your business!"

"It's not a business," the young man said waving his hand dismissively without turning around. "It's a car. It should be driven."

The old man watched as he walked out of sight, and turned back to his car. Stupid kid, what does he know. He leaned over it again, wiping the same spot over and over. This dot needs some re-painting, he said to himself. I better get moving, there's only a few hours of daylight left.