A short story by Perry Mowbray

Joe looked up from the dishes just in time to see the cat disappear under the car. He had heard the barking getting closer for some minutes, now the dog responsible, wide-eyed and salivating, was circling the car in his driveway. "Funny," he thought, "I never would have believed that that blasted car could become a centre for arguments amongst the neighbourhood pets as well as my family."

"Joe? What’s all that noise?" Kathy, his wife, stuck her head out from the pantry, arms full of ingredients for the evening meal.

"Nothing. It’s just a dog that’s chased a…" His sentence, and thought, was truncated by his son James, thumping his way down the stairs and out the front door, yelling at the top of his voice. "…like I was trying to say; nothing to worry about."

"Get out! Get away from my car!" The dog had retreated to the relative safety of the next door neighbour’s front yard, away from the wildly swinging rake that James had picked up on his way past the garden shed. James, unable to get close enough to hit the dog, threw it wildly at the retreating animal.

"Jim sure does get emotional about that car." Kathy had slipped her arm around Joe’s waist. They watched as Jim used a few well-aimed blasts from the garden hose to evict the hiding cat. She could feel her husband’s tension, and was desperately trying to calm his feelings. For his part, Joe stood there passively, knowing his emotions were running amok, unable to control them but allowing his wife’s attempts to soothe him anyway. He didn’t want to feel angry – if that was the correct name for the emotion he was feeling – but that car had developed into a time bomb. And he wasn’t sure he could stop it going off. This car had seemed to be associated with pain right from the very beginning when his father first mentioned his plans six months ago.

–—

Joe’s expression was indignant: he couldn’t believe what his father had just said. He looked down at the bed on which he was sitting, unable to speak and incapable of getting his thoughts to line up in a logical order.

"Change can be hard, but everyone has to change son, that’s part of life. If you're growing then you're changing, but if you’re not changing, then you can't be growing, and if you’re not growing, then you’re dead – or very close to it!" Poppy chuckled from deep in his chest; he was in a lighthearted mood even though he knew his son wouldn't have appreciated his jibe about death. Joe, his son, was not sure what he was feeling, but he wouldn’t have described it as lighthearted. Devastated might be closer; he just couldn’t take in what his father was telling him, and still his thoughts chased each other around in circles inside his head.

"But the car isn't changing." Joe said defensively, though, once he had said it, he wished he hadn’t.

"It’s a thing, Joseph. It doesn’t need to change." Joe knew he was trapped, it had happened so many times before in his life, and it didn’t matter how much he wriggled: when his father had settled on something, he would not let go. It was a much better policy to give in gracefully.

He offered his father a halfhearted smile, "Just me, eh?" and his father reached out and held his shoulder. Joe could feel the warmth and love. He had never really doubted it, he just didn’t enjoy pain or disappointment. And this disappointment was turning out to be very painful.

Poppy smiled warmly at his son – he knew his struggle. He had spent much time in prayer about this decision, he had always planned to give the car to his son, but the need never actually arose. He was either always with him (as a young man), or had his own vehicle (as a married man). In many ways it had always been Joe’s, just as much as it was his, anyway. But there were other matters which they had to talk about too, Poppy knew they were going to be harder to discuss than the car, and possibly more hurtful.

"Joe, you know I’m not changing much these days." He searched for his son’s eyes, but Joe would not contemplate the thought of that separation. The pain involved with his father leaving – he didn't like the word dying – was something he did not want to think about before he had to. Joe remained silent, looking intently at the bed, hoping that somehow this conversation would end before it got going.

Poppy waited, and then continued when it was obvious Joe wasn't going to respond. "I’ve been an old dog for a long time now Joe; but now, you know I hate to admit it, I’m feeling rather old too."

"Dad! You’re as fit as a fiddle." Joe interjected, glancing briefly at his father, but turning away quickly when he couldn't stop himself from seeing the tiredness in his father's eyes.

"You know I’m not son." He reached for his son’s hand, and their eyes met. Joe knew he was just wriggling again, he wasn’t going to get away. His father had things to say, things he didn’t want to hear, but his father would not let it go any longer.

–—

It just wasn't that he was Joe's father, that made his life seem endless, other people had the same feeling about him too. Consequently, it was a shock to almost everyone, except his son, when Poppy died. The baker said that it wouldn't be the same not having his father knocking on the backdoor at 6am each morning for his loaf 'fresh out of the oven'. He'd done that for as long as he could remember. Everyone in the neighbourhood had their own unique relationship with Poppy. Somehow, he had managed to be special to each one of them.

Joe had known the time was close ever since that day they had said their good byes. They didn’t stop seeing one another after that emotional day, it was just that that final good-bye was dealt with. In a funny way, his grief had almost started healing from that day, so final was the acceptance of their parting. Joe had this uncanny feeling that it was him that was leaving, that Poppy was the one staying: Joe was the one moving on, who was going to ‘keep changing’, as Poppy put it. His father had always seemed unchangeable, and now he only seemed more so.

The funeral service – one of the biggest the parish had seen – was held in the local church the family had been attending since Poppy moved to Sydney; the body was buried in the big cemetery down the main highway; and Joe and Kathy hosted the wake in their home.

Finally, the last will and testament was read in the solicitor's office. There were no surprises, Joe knew all about the car, had done for six months; but it still stung to hear the words read aloud, "My FJ Holden is to become the property of my grandson, James, at the time when he secures his first job." Kathy had looked inquisitively over at Joe. He hadn’t told her what Poppy’s plans were, he probably should have, tried to come to terms with the situation before now. He smiled feebly at his wife, but his wife knew that smile was concealing something more than just grief.

Poppy's house and yard were cleaned and rented out, but the car was kept in its original garage until Jim completed the prerequisite for ownership. Joe was in no hurry, he was more than happy to deal with one problem at a time: and his grief needed time. At least that's what he kept telling himself, though he had a nagging suspicion that he was just making excuses. He had a little trouble talking Kathy into silence about the car. She was all for Jim having it immediately, and starting work on it, "Poppy hadn’t driven for some time: it must need a little fixing up?"

Life continued in this vein – Joe putting off and hiding what he knew was inevitable – for some time. Slowly grief was becoming less of a focus for his thoughts, and peace was starting to fill his life again; although, it was probably more like the calm that comes just before a storm.

–—

Monday afternoon was as bright and fresh as a morning. At least that's how it felt to Joe, it was his afternoon for playing tennis with some friends from work. He always enjoyed Monday afternoons. He had no warning, no premonition of the impending emotional storm that was about to break over him. Initially, it just sounded like James coming home.

"Dad?! Dad! Dad, I got it!" James bound up the stairs two at a time. He had obviously started the day neat and tidy, but now his shirt was flapping out behind him, the buttons undone and his tie was hanging around his chest. He found his father sitting on the bed, taking off his tennis shoes.

"I got it Dad!" Joe looked up from his shoelaces. James was standing just inside the door, breathing hard, and wearing the widest grin he had seen on his face for a long time. He pushed some hair from his eyes, expectantly waiting for his father's response.

"That’s great Jim, I knew you would." James relaxed, pleased he had succeeded, pleased his father had seen and received his success. Suddenly his good news burst up through his chest again – he had to tell someone else – "Where’s Mum?" He left his father sitting on the bed staring at his tennis shoes, and ran to find his mother.

His father sat on the bed with such a strange mixture of feelings bubbling within him. He was genuinely pleased about his son’s job – his first job. They had prayed together, dreamt and got excited with each other over this job. Early mornings spent praying and searching the newspaper. Joe saw it not only as a real physical step in his son’s life, but a special God-given opportunity to grow in his spiritual life as well. Joe was always concerned about his children’s faith. Raising them never seemed complete until they had acquired a mature faith. This job had seemed a perfect catalyst for growth; and James certainly had focused on what was needed, and had honestly laid it all before God: his plans, wishes and desires, and what God really wanted. And now the reward had come.

The nagging at his joy, the tearing in his emotions, the feeling of impending doom, came from the fact that he had just expended great faith and encouragement for his son, so that he might obtain this job. And now he would lose all hope of keeping his father's car. Joe couldn't understand why he was holding on to the car so strongly. He knew he had always wanted the car, but now the strength of that desire unsettled him. It was something foreign within him, a voice that didn't agree with his reasoning. It had first raised its head when Poppy told him of his plans. Logically, he should have accepted the inevitable, the right and the proper, but this insane hope struggled for dominance within him.

Poppy certainly had correctly foreseen his grandson’s needs. He remembered again how Poppy was lying in his bed looking incredibly old, Joe sitting close to him, scared he was going to slowly slip away before his eyes…

"Joe, you know that James won't have much chance to secure a job without transport. I want to give him the FJ when he gets a job. I was just the same Joe, I couldn’t have accepted that new teaching job unless I had the car. It was the time that changed our whole family completely. Before that, we had always struggled. So much of my time was spent traveling that I felt like I was never with the family, and the extra money meant that I could keep the weekends free. Free to go driving, or build things, you remember: free just to be together as a family. It was the means that I was lifted out of the ordinary, so that we could see and take advantage of extraordinary opportunities, freed from the poverty of chasing money and time."

Poppy had fixed him with his eyes, very serious, "Joe, it’s important to me. It's the car’s mission. I know it is meant to live after I’ve gone, to have an impact on James' life."

That last sentence had cut through whatever was holding his emotions in check. He remembered tumbling into a void of unknowns, his whole heart torn open and laid bare before his father: his hopes, desires and fears. They all fell out in a confused mass of tears and emotion. Poppy had embraced him, prayed, and loved him tenderly. He had felt the peace, the beginning of his healing, start to flow into him. It gave him strength to continue, for his eyes to dry, to look at the things that had to happen, that couldn't be escaped.

It felt so long ago now. Joe recognized the same pain, beginning within him again; where had that strength gone? Poppy had seemed so lucid then. It was so strange seeing his abundance of life and hope flowing from such a tired looking body. The incongruity, life and death all mixed up together, had thrown Joe completely off balance. Yet here he was with the same incongruity: exhilarated and dispirited, all mixed up together.

–—

The first days after getting his job all of James' thoughts were about the changes that were coming in his life: what clothes he would need to buy, what time he’d have to get up to catch the bus & train, his extra responsibilities and of course, his increasing bank balance. It was a time of great excitement and expectation.

Joe knew he was putting off what shouldn’t be put off. Everyone had heard what Poppy had written in his will, but apart from that, he had made himself completely clear that day. The pain of losing his father had entirely overshadowed any pain associated with losing the car as well, but now the impending transaction weighed heavily upon him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Jim to have the car, it’s just he was having problems letting something that was so personal between him and his father go. What had his father said about changes? ‘Change is hard; growing is hard. It was all part of life.’ Well, if he were going to be honest to his father, he would have to see this through, though it felt that part of him was dying, not changing.

"Wednesday morning." Joe said sternly, as if speaking to a naughty child, "You must tell him this Wednesday morning."

–—

You're not serious Dad? You can’t be!" James was almost jumping out of his chair. His father had asked him into the lounge room, 'for an important talk'. At first, Jim thought he was in trouble over something, but not now: now he thought he was dreaming.

Joe grimaced at how enthusiastically Jim was receiving his prize. "Poppy told me all about it before he died, he also wrote it in his will. He wanted the car to help you like it had helped him…"

Jim was up, too excited to stay seated. "My first job and my first car. All in one week! Praise God!" James was oblivious to his father’s attempts to hide his pain, he was almost dancing around the room with joy.

"When can we get it? I mean, wow, my car. Mum! Mum?!" James ran out of the room, Joe could hear him disappearing down the corridor, shouting after his mother, "Mum, did you know about Poppy’s car?"

"Yes, she knew about Poppy’s car," Joe said in a near whisper to himself. He was looking at a photograph of his wedding hanging on the wall. Poppy, Joe and his best man standing beside Poppy’s immaculately turned out FJ Holden. Joe could still remember the pride he felt in his father’s car, and the wish he had that one day it would be his. He realized suddenly that Poppy and the car were inseparable. "Maybe that's why the car has to die?" Joe mused, although, it didn't make much sense. But then again, not much made sense to Joe at the moment.

He looked back at his father in the photo, "Well Dad, it’s certainly had an effect on Jim!"

–—

Jim was far too excited to wait, so Joe reluctantly agreed to collect his father’s FJ Holden that evening. Joe hired a trailer for that afternoon, which he picked up on the way home from work. The trip across to Poppy’s old house was mostly silent, Joe content with his own thoughts, Jim still too excited to speak, willing the minutes to go quicker.

Joe paused for the slightest moment before opening the garage door, a little fearful of his own emotions, a little afraid of what would happen when that little part of him that had to die, actually lost it’s life. But it was not as hard as Joe had thought it would be, any sadness or pain was swallowed up in the sheer joy and excitement of his son, and the immensity of the task of getting the car on the road again. He hadn’t realized a car could change so much languishing in a garage. Joe watched his son as he walked around the car. His eyes full of faith, lovingly patting a fender here, dusting a panel with his hand there. Joe had different images in his mind though: memories of the past, realities that were, not dreams of the future.

Poppy’s car was gently pushed out and then winched up onto the car trailer, and driven home. The family Commodore was moved out from the garage, so that the car could be worked on under cover. Jim had a week before he started work, and Joe had a couple of days owed to him from his job. They worked together: greasing, changing oil, replacing worn out parts; checking lights, brakes and wipers; cutting, polishing and cleaning. The car of Joe’s childhood slowly reappeared through the deteriorated vehicle that was in their garage. That, and the unbounded enthusiasm of his son and the light in his eye, made the loss Joe felt a thing of the past.

They were happy days. Joe and Jim working together, dreaming, remembering. Jim wanted to know all about Poppy and the car; Joe enjoyed reliving it all.

The more Joe thought and talked about it, he came to understand that the car was like a physical expression of his relationship with his father. Some of his happiest memories were associated with it: going on holiday, being driven to school in front of all his friends, cleaning it together on the weekends, and the pinnacle: learning to drive in it.

"I remember one day, Jim, I think I was 7 years old..." Jim sat enthralled at his father’s history coming to life before him.

Each night Joe would collapse happily into bed, and talk of the day’s happenings, the re-lived memories, and Jim's excitement. Kathy was also pleased, Joe seemed to have a new lease on life, a new mission.

"How’s the car going?" Kathy was up on one elbow, waiting for her husband to come out of the shower.

"You know, it’s like it’s mine again: not my possession, but the joy of having it here, of having it in my life again…" Joe came out of the bathroom and started putting his pajama shorts on. "I can’t explain it Kath, I always thought it was going to be my car, something just between Dad and me. I felt so deflated, robbed, when Dad told me he was going to give it to Jim."

Joe sat down on the edge of the bed and studied his hands, "I knew it had to become Jim's, but, I also knew it was mine, something just between Poppy and me. I couldn't reconcile the two. It was like he was going to take that precious part of our relationship and hand it over to someone else. Yet now, seeing the life it has given to Jim, how he has changed, well, Dad was right: I haven't lost anything – I've actually gained, and Jim has gained everything. Everything I wanted for him at least. You know, Jim said today that it was like having Poppy with us again. I have to agree with him Kath. It's quite mysterious down in that garage, I keep expecting Poppy to slap me on the back and climb into the car next to me."

Joe looked over at his wife who had a broad smile on her face, "The truth is, I haven't felt so close to Poppy in a long time, or Jim for that matter. If I'd known what would have happened Kath, I would have done it much sooner."

But deep down, Joe had a slight unease that he couldn't put into words: the hard changes Poppy had talked about had seemed a little too easy, and he was a little scared that they hadn't happened yet. That what he had endured so far wasn't really hard and that they were yet to come.

–—

Sunday was designated ‘FJ Day’: the day the car would be ready to start for the first time by the new owner. They had worked hard from Thursday to Saturday, all day and half the nights. There was a spontaneous shout of joy when Jim started the car. It was not a huge mechanical project to get the car going again, but it was something that both of them wanted to do right, exactly right. To hear that engine running again flooded Joe’s mind with memories. Memories of his father and him driving, together in the car. He could see his father again, smiling, "He was always happy to be with us in his car." Joe had a deep urge to go driving, if not with his father again, at least in his car that was so much part of him.

Joe picked up a polishing cloth to rub a few specks of dust from a fender, "Jim, why don’t we go for a spin?"

"Sure, Dad! I was thinking the same thing." James held the back door open for his mother, "You coming Mum?" Joe smiled as he let himself into the passenger side.

Jim gently eased the car out of the garage and onto the street for it’s maiden voyage, his ‘P’ plates looking slightly incongruous against the timeless lines and polish of the car. Jim drove aimlessly, more concerned with caressing the car through the gears and easing the engine back into life than where he was going.

It was awesome for Jim to sit in the seat Poppy had sat in for so many years; he rested his arm on the same little wear spot that Poppy had worn out after so many years of driving. Joe was sitting in the same seat as usual: next to the driver. Nevertheless, there was no sadness now, part of his childhood had jumped back into life with the car’s engine, and he was enjoying it. Kathy sat in the back, smiling at the two contented men in her life, she could never have believed for such a perfect outcome.

Jim was driving down the main highway, muttering to himself about how good the car looked and felt. He tested all the knobs, sounded the horn and tried the wipers. Joe sat smiling, remembering, reliving. He stroked the seats with his hand – the upholstery had a new smell, but the wear patches were still obvious; rubbed the dash with his fingers, gently opened the glove compartment and saw the new document wallet and cloth he had bought for his son. The window action was not as smooth as he remembered, but he took great delight in watching it go up and down. Both men were completely absorbed in their own personal daydreams, they got quite a start when Kathy said, "Look where we are!" from the back seat.

Joe looked up, and the red light did look somewhat familiar, but it was the iron fence and gates that brought recognition to Joe and Jim at the same time. They exchanged a glance that conveyed the same thought, and Jim eased the car through the gate, turned left and eventually stopped by Poppy’s grave. Suddenly, the reality of what had happened became unmistakable, it hit them without warning. They looked out over the newly polished bonnet of the FJ Holden to Poppy’s grave where some flowers were hanging dead in their vase. Poppy’s body lay cold and dead under the ground, it had grown old and tired, he had outgrown it; but his car had remained, had been rejuvenated, and now was as good as new.

All the pain and struggling of the last week flooded back into Joe’s consciousness, it seemed to taunt him. He had to get out of the car. "Oh Dad, I‘d prefer to have you!" Joe rubbed the tears from his eyes to stop them stinging, "It's really you that I want." The realization became clear in that instant, the car was not the relationship with his father. Having the car was not the same as having Poppy, and he suddenly felt the pain of inescapable loneliness.

Kathy got out of the car to comfort her husband, to hug him, to stay with him and support him. Jim sat in the front seat, not seeing his parents kneeling beside the grave, only the dead roses. Poppy was gone; the car, new, shiny, remained behind. It seemed unreal, but the car was his now, the transaction had been finalized.

–—

The excitement and emotion of that first Sunday with the car faded gently. Joe’s time off work came to an end, and he was now back at the office. Jim had started his new job, and was settling in nicely. It had all changed so quickly, no one seemed to notice.

The days of getting the car ready were like a dream now, like a holiday whose pleasures warm the heart long after it has finished. Joe would sit in his chair, or lay on his back at night, smiling at the joy of having his childhood memories reborn again. Hearing the car start up in the morning, or come in the drive at night, still sent a thrill through him, though for some strange reason he always half expected Poppy to get out of the car instead of Jim. These momentary shocks were getting less and less though now.

The car had instantly become a natural part of Jim’s life. He was soon driving to work and back each day with little thought of the changes the car had brought. His mother would ask him to quickly pop down and buy something that she needed urgently from the supermarket. Church was a weekly occurrence, all the young people crowding around after the service. Jim enjoyed the notability the car brought, as well as the new friends. The mid-week bible study was a time when he could discuss all the new things that he could do with the car, all the neat places they could go.

It was Wednesday night, the night of the bible study. They were studying the Gospel of John this month. This week they had to read the 12 ^th chapter. Jim had just read this chapter sitting in the parking area of a take away food store on his way to the study, and was thinking about seeds dying. He was trying to reconcile what Jesus called death to germination, something he aligned with life, when while reversing out onto the road, he sideswiped a telegraph pole.

Jim sat unbelieving for half a minute, that terrible sound of metal crumpling reverberating around his memory. He got out to look at the side of the car and he could not believe what his eyes were telling him. A huge scar ran half the length of the body, dented fenders, and paint scraped off.

He was too upset to talk, too angry. What was left of the thick shake was hurled across the road, narrowly missing a passing bus. The telegraph pole was kicked mercilessly, which only made his foot hurt, and then he lost his balance and fell over. Tears filled his eyes, "Oh Poppy!"

Forgetting completely about the bible study, he got off his knees, jumped into the car, slammed the door, and raced home.

He was in no mood to talk to his parents when he stomped, still limping slightly, into the house. "Did you forget something…" Kathy didn’t quite finish her question. Her son was a walking thundercloud, slamming doors and muttering obscenities on his way to his room.

Joe had wondered what the problem was when he heard Jim drive up so early. He knew something was terribly wrong when he only saw one headlight turning into the driveway, but Joe’s heart sank when he saw the car. Pain flooded back into his heart without warning. His peace fled in the face of such opposition and he was left standing on the drive groping after it in the dark. He knew he would have to go talk to his son, but he didn't exactly know what he could say, or how he could say it.

–—

"I can’t believe I’ve done this to Poppy’s car!" Jim buried his face in his hands again. He couldn’t bear to look at his father, but if he did, he would have seen more pain in his father's eyes than he felt in his own heart. Joe looked down at his son, he didn’t have anything to say, but felt he had to say something.

"Poppy wanted the car to be yours Jim." Joe said tentatively as he sat down next to his son, "He gave the car freely."

"And I broke it! His car! I broke Poppy’s car!" Jim pounded the table with his fist.

"No, James. You broke your car, not Poppy’s" Jim stiffened visibly. He didn’t like that thought. He liked it being Poppy’s car. It kept Poppy close keeping the car the way he thought Poppy liked it.

"It’s Poppy’s car Dad! It always will be; it’s like his presence is in there. You said that yourself!"

"Poppy’s gone James, you have to accept that. He wanted you to have the car, he wanted you to own it." Joe was tired, this whole thing had worn him down; too many memories, too much pain. It was like he was arguing against himself – Jim was only saying the things that he himself was thinking, and how can you win an argument against yourself? It was like trying to make yourself laugh by tickling your own foot! Joe realized that he couldn't persuade Jim, he couldn't give Poppy's car away – he still wanted it; Poppy would have to do that himself.

Joe took a breath, this wasn't going to be easy, but he knew he had to let Poppy's thoughts have precedence. "When Poppy was younger, he got a new teaching job in the Southern suburbs. He was always a practical man, Jim. He immediately went out and bought the new car. He’d saved enough money to make the repayments easy enough for his salary. He knew that if he took public transport to his job it would seriously affect his family. I was only a little kid then."

James was interested; he lifted his head, his eyes bleary, "Do you remember Poppy getting the car?"

"No. I must have been young, because it seems as though there was never a time when we didn't have it. Dad didn’t think about his car like people do now days. He could see the engineering marvels, the aesthetic lines and comfortable upholstery: but it was always a tool to get him to work and back. That’s why he never sold it, or upgraded it – it had always done what it was meant to." Joe looked at his son, and offered the lifeline he himself was struggling to grasp, "It will still do that son."

Joe was up, standing at the window looking down on the car. From this angle, the ugly scar was hidden.

"Yeah, I can still remember him saying that these new cars, like ours Dad, were no better than his, and probably a lot worse." Joe smiled at the memory, he could hear his father saying the same thing.

"Jim, you have to realize what Poppy wanted for you. For him, the car was a tool to take him to work. It was a vehicle to take him and his family to a new and better life. We weren’t well off, the increase in salary was important. He wanted the same for you Jim, we set it all up six months before he died."

Jim stared open mouthed at his father. It was hard to believe that Poppy could think like that, have that understanding. His father must have read the expression on his face, and continued, "He knew that you’d need transport to get a job in today’s unemployment climate. He always said that his car was not just for one man’s life; I had always thought, though, that it would become my car."

Jim hadn’t heard the last confession, he had buried his face again, unable to control his feelings. His father was now worn out, the overuse of his emotions leaving him drained. So he quietly got up and left his son to his own thoughts.

Jim sat with his head in his hands, the heels of his palms on his eyes: the pressure helped relieve the pain they felt. He could see shapes moving about on the back of his eyelids. The lighter shapes moved and swirled over a dark streaked background. He found himself unwillingly concentrating on them; at least they were a distraction from his feelings. Jim knew it must be the blood and pressure of his hands making the patterns.

The shapes moved in random motions, changing colours, colliding, joining, splitting. Each time he looked at one, it moved off idly into the swirling mass; it was a little like a game of chase. Jim almost thought he had figured out the stimulus for their movements, and tried to 'outthink' them; but then they'd react differently and he was undecided again. He'd completely forgotten about the disaster on the driveway below his window.

A large, yellow, amorphous mass moved slowly into his field of vision; it didn't move like the others – it can't be playing chase. Jim tried to get it to budge—added extra pressure, moved his eyes—but it stubbornly remained where it was. Slowly it bulged around the middle, imperceptibly at first; Jim had to concentrate – it was almost pulsating. The corners were becoming pinched; it was a little like watching a balloon artist making objects by twisting those thin balloons together. He'd always been fascinated by how those squeaking inflated rubber balloons evolved into an identifiable object – it always caught him by surprise. The shape continued to change, bulging and twisting; ridges and lines appeared, superimposed from the eddying background.

All at once, he sensed that the shape looked familiar, as though he should recognize it. Then he realized he was looking at a car – the balloon artist had surprised him again: It was Poppy’s beige FJ Holden. New, shiny, just like Poppy had bought it years ago. Poppy’s face suddenly appeared over the image of his car. Emotion filled Jim’s chest, and made his throat ache. Then, as Jim was looking at Poppy's face, a huge gash appeared down his left cheek. His smile disappeared, he looked shocked, hurt. Jim looked on in horror as Poppy slowly disintegrated, like a burst balloon in slow motion, leaving his car alone, with the same gash down the left-hand side: ‘His car’. He opened his eyes quickly to erase the image.

Jim’s chest was heaving again. "Oh Poppy, I’m sorry!"

‘It’s not my car, it’s your car, Jim’ It was Poppy talking to him, but it was his father’s voice. ‘If you loved me, you’d accept my gift and not oppose my wishes.’

Jim hadn't thought about it like that, "I’m sorry, Poppy." Jim sat, utterly confused, looking at his grandfather’s car in his mind. "My Car?" The scar, the chipped paint, the twisted metal became animated. The dents and gash pushed themselves out. The paint began growing, covering the scar. The car slowly metamorphosed in his mind, "My car."

Jim got up and walked to the window, "My car?" he could see the car below on the drive, looking just like his grandfather’s car.

Slowly the realization became clear, he started to accept what Poppy obviously wanted: his eyes no longer saw his grandfather’s car, but they focused entirely on what his car would be. "Poppy, you wait. I’ll make you proud."

–—

The rebuilding of the car was not a father and son experience like the first time. The dreams that were dreamed were all Jim’s, the work was all Jim’s, and the decisions were all his as well. Jim was busy, not consciously ignoring his father or leaving him out of the decision making, just caught up in his own life: planning; working, saving his money and striving toward his goal. He could now see his car in his mind’s eye, and it certainly was not the beige FJ Holden with the ugly scar down the left-hand side. He didn’t know what people were thinking when they saw him driving to work: but he felt every word or criticism, real or imagined. He knew he had become a little over sensitive about the car. After all, it was obvious to everybody that it wasn't perfect, but he had promised that he would make it better, make it much more appealing. His car would not be second rate.

Jim could hardly wait until his dreams became a reality, he never knew enduring a lack of perfection could be so hard. To his father, he was spending an inordinate amount of time reading car magazines, window shopping through car yards, or just sitting and gazing into the distance. Joe couldn’t see the relevance of what all those glossy magazines were selling, or what they had to do with his father’s old car. Jim would come home from his discussions with the panel beater close to incoherent, muttering some strange language he didn’t understand.

Joe's relationship with Kathy was showing strain too, little gaps in understanding that grace didn't seem to bridge; the car was slowly becoming a 'no go zone'. This made him feel all the more ostracized, unable to get meaningful answers from his son, unable to discuss it with his wife and completely cut off from Poppy and the car.

"Do you think Jim is going to change the colour of the car, Kath?" Joe stormed in from another fruitless discussion with Jim, feeling frustrated that he couldn't get straight answers from him.

"I don’t know, Joe, why don’t you ask him?" Kathy rolled over to go to sleep – she didn’t share the same concerns as her husband. A lot of the time these days, she didn't even understand what her husband was talking about, let alone agree or disagree with it.

Joe forcefully removed his clothing and threw it, piece by piece, into the corner. "I would, but he’s always out, got his head in a magazine or just doesn’t want to talk. He keeps saying that he’s going to make Poppy proud. Where did he go tonight?" Joe turned to his wife, but she was already asleep, and couldn’t even offer a grunt.

"Well, I suppose I won't have to guess anymore, once Friday and the end of the week arrives." Jim mumbled to himself as he snuggled under the covers. But sleep was hard to come by, he kept thinking about Friday and the hard changes his father had talked about, and what it could all mean.

–—

Joe and Kathy ate their Friday dinner by themselves – Jim had let them know that morning that he would be stopping by the panel beaters to pick his car up. The meal was almost completely eaten in silence, Jim alone in his thoughts and speculations and Kathy unwilling to open the can of worms. The clearing up was mechanical and the washing of the dishes not much better.

Joe looked up from the dishes to his wife for the first time that night, "I have a funny feeling about what's going to happen Kath."

"It’s all right Joseph, you are the one who said it had to become his car. I’m sure he’s done a very nice job." Joe knew he should let it go, the last thing he needed was an unwinnable argument with his wife, so they washed in silence.

They could both hear the car well before they saw it – not that they would have attributed the noise they heard to Poppy’s car. A black, shiny car carefully turned into their driveway. Bright painted red and yellow fire streaming from the sides. Chrome spoked wheels, with big, fat tyres. The shiny bumper bar sitting alarmingly close to the driveway. Chrome exhaust pipes protruded from under the driver’s door, and emitted a deep and powerful gurgle. Even Kathy was speechless, a plate hung motionless above the bubbles as Joe stared dumbfounded out of the window. His last hope was dashed when the door opened, and Jim got out. He closed the door, took a few steps backward, spun, did a little jump, and shouted, "Yes!"

"Joseph, I know it’s not what you’d like…"

"Not what I like? I just can’t believe that he’s done that to Dad’s car!" Joe cut in. Kathy bit her lip, realizing that Joe had been right all along.

They were both still trying to gather themselves when Jim burst through the front door, "Dad, Mum! Come and have a look at the car."

"We saw you come in, sweetheart." Kathy gently squeezed Joe’s hand. Joe was still staring out of the kitchen window, wondering how he was going to control himself. He hadn’t felt so raw since his father died.

The exasperatingly minute presentation of the new car was torture for Joe. His father’s car: every inch was changed. There was nothing of his father left in it. He did not understand these hot rods: they were loud audibly, loud visibly, had loud engines, loud music systems and loud owners driving them. That wasn’t Poppy, it wasn't him and he didn’t even think it was Jim.

Jim discussed the new engine system, suspension, the new interior, the new wheels and brakes, how fast it would go and how quickly it would stop. He demonstrated the music system to much wincing of his parents. At the conclusion of the presentation, he stood arms outstretched, "Well, what do you think?" Jim was expectant, standing in front of the car with a big smile on his face.

Joe looked squarely at his son, Kathy was praying silently, "Is there any of Poppy’s car left in there?"

Jim was just too excited to hear the sarcasm, "Sure! All the body work is the same – except for the new fiberglass panels. I don’t think Poppy’d seen it so good, eh, Dad? I reckon he’d be really proud!"

–—

That night in bed, Joe was uncommunicative. Kathy could feel the sadness, the resentment, hovering like a mist around her husband.

"He’s only done what you and Poppy asked him to do hasn't he? It is his car now."

"I know. I know." Joe looked at the ceiling; he had nowhere else to look. He knew Kathy was right, but something didn’t feel right. He wasn’t sure he could put it into words, wasn’t even sure that he knew what it was that he felt. He could feel his anger about his father’s car, but somewhere else, in another part of him was this disquiet he couldn’t quite locate.

Kathy knew he was struggling. "You have to let it go Joe. Jim has managed to work through those issues, now you must too." The gap Joe was feeling seemed to be getting wider at each new disaster, and not being able to express himself, only made it seem worse.

–—

Jim’s new car arrived home with a bang, an explosion that was still reverberating around his father’s insides. Family life did not change instantly or dramatically like at the scene of a bomb blast, it was more a slow and incessant shift in priorities. The family was changing, Joe could tell, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what was troubling him. A strange gurgling developed within him, he couldn’t pinpoint it or put a name to the emotion: but it steadily bubbled about inside. It seemed to live a life of its own too, which baffled Joe even more; some days it would rise up and accuse his son, but it never gave any answers, only criticisms.

Joe was constantly wrestling verbally with Jim these days, usually ending with Jim storming out and Joe not knowing why or how they had got into another argument; but his insides gurgled on. He found himself continually making digs at him, aggravating him without knowing why. His anger over the car was subsiding over time, he knew he was coming to grips with what his son had done to the car. However, as his anger diminished, this something, this unease, this gurgling, was left in its place, steadily growing in intensity.

The home became increasingly tense. Meals were eaten in silence, his father wincing when his son drove the car in or out of the driveway. Three individuals separated by an unbridgeable gulf. A painful unbridgeable gulf. It was just so stupid that this gulf is caused by Dad's car! "The car that was the centre of my family!" Joe thought sadly.

One day Joe was putting the family car away, only to find that Jim’s car was already occupying the garage. The rule that the garage was for the family car was made very early on. Outraged, Joe ran up the stairs into the house. Jim was sitting in the lounge, looking through a hi-fi magazine, checking out the latest systems.

"Hey, Dad, you should look at these speakers! Compared to mine, they’re…"

"No thanks." Joe turned his back and stormed out to try to find his wife, the gurgling in his stomach filling his throat so he couldn't speak; scared at how much it was affecting him and how little control he had.

"Guess not then?" Jim buried his head again, planning his next upgrade.

Jim could sense the growing rift between himself and his father – he thought it was just another stage the relationship was going through. He probably could have worked it out if he had thought about it, but his new car filled his thoughts now.

Kathy could see the father and son relationship disintegrating, and not very slowly either. She tried talking to both of them, but Joe just didn’t seem to know what was happening – it was virtually impossible to have a conversation with him about the car. Whether he didn’t know what was going on, or just refused to talk about it, she didn’t know. He would just sit there, passively looking at the floor. She began to wonder if the stress had had an impact on his sanity. Maybe this car thing had just got too big. She knew his father's car was important to him, but letting it affect all his relationships; this she just couldn't understand.

Joe knew he was frustrating his wife, but he couldn’t do anything about it. The disquiet, the gurgle had grown into a smoldering mass, which agitated his emotions, set them off without warning. It was hard to talk about, he didn’t know where it had come from, what it was or where it was going. He even found it hard to pray about, it came from so deep within him, it was impossible to focus on.

The day Joe discovered Jim wasn’t taking his car to work anymore was still a painful memory. They were sitting across the breakfast table, Kathy washing at the sink. Jim was explaining that he had a friend that passed right by their door, and he could contribute to petrol costs. She could still see the stunned look on Joe’s face. He didn’t say anything, but she could tell there was plenty going on inside. His eyes had an empty look that frightened her, like his hope was dying.

After Jim had left for work that morning, she watched her husband, alone at the breakfast table, just staring into the distance. His cup of tea was still untouched in front of him. He mumbled something about his father leaving him without a car. It didn't make much sense to her, because she knew their car was in the garage.

–—

Saturday, coming home from tennis, Joe found Jim on his knees in the middle of the drive, polishing the car for the third time that week. It probably wasn't the third time, but it did seem that way to Joe.

"Is that all you do to that car now?" It was a lighthearted comment from Joe, tennis had put him into a better than average mood. He slapped his son on his back as he walked past him, and added encouragingly, "Looks good!"

"No! It’s not the only thing I do, but I'm trying to keep Poppy’s memory alive." Jim could still feel the cutting remarks his father had unleashed on him before going to tennis: another disastrous end to another argument.

Joe stopped mid stride and turned around, he couldn’t believe his ears. "Don’t give me that! That car has nothing to do with Poppy! Not now." His insides were gurgling again, the fire deep inside was starting to rage.

"But he did give it to me !" Jim had had enough of this argument, it had seemed to go on for far too long. It was his car now. Surely his father could see that? Poppy had given it to him, with no strings attached. Jim carefully studied the fender he was polishing, he didn’t want the third world war, but he was sick and tired of his dreams being taken away from him.

Joe struggled for self-control; his insides were exploding. He took a deep breath to try to regain his outward calm – his insides were beyond control.

"He may have given you the FJ Holden, but that’s not what I see here on my drive. He gave you a vehicle to drive to work in, you don’t even take it to work in anymore! He gave you a means to earn money, and all this car has done is spend your savings."

Joe felt the intensity of the inner heat that he hadn’t experienced before, whatever it was that was growing within him was coming to a head. It almost felt like anger, but this was something different, he felt strangely detached from the passions that were rising up within him; and suddenly it all seemed to gel in his mind: "It’s not what’s been done to it – but why it’s been done!" And a veil was lifted from his eyes.

Joe looked again at the FJ Holden, this time with new eyes. He didn’t see Poppy’s car, he didn’t see his car, he didn’t even see Jim’s hot rod: he only saw a car that wasn’t a vehicle.

"That was Poppy’s car, Poppy’s vehicle that you destroyed!" It wasn’t an explosion of anger, Joe couldn’t name the emotion, but it was violent. The utterance had a ferocity that was greater than what was contained in the words themselves: it wasn’t what Jim had done to the car; it was what he had done to himself. Jim had become the servant of what was meant to serve him.

The explosion had cut its way through Jim's resolve and he had his head low again: he was starting to believe that his father had a point, and the thought of hurting Poppy disconcerted him. He looked up at the fender he was polishing and saw his own reflection looking back. This car was certainly his: his ego, his dream; but it was not his vehicle – even Jim could see that now. He suddenly felt naked, lost; his resolve to fight disappeared, he realized he was only fighting for his own benefits anyway, and he couldn't pin that on Poppy any longer. He looked up at his father, his eyes pleading like a drowning man's.

The compassion instantly rose within Joe, he could see the fight had gone out of his son. "Hey, do you want to take me for a drive?" Joe couldn’t believe what he had said, but it was too late now, Jim had jumped up and was holding the door open for him.

The car burst into life as Jim turned the key, roared as he accelerated down the road, but they both sat in the silence of their own musings and wounds, not caring where they went. The pain in their hearts and the shattered dreams physically ached in their chests; the discomfiture was almost solid enough to suffocate them.

Joe was still struggling with his emotions, Jim, drowning in his. Jim finally needed to break the silence, to reach out to his father, to find some answers. "I always admired Poppy, Dad."

Joe sat without responding for a short time before he replied, "Me too, James." The emotions were still doing somersaults in Joe’s stomach, but he could also feel his son reaching out to him, and he wanted to respond, or at least, let him come closer, but he was unsure how to bridge the gap.

They drove on without talking, both unsure where they were actually headed. The need within Jim forced him to try to break down the wall between them again. "He seemed so simple, yet so profound. I wanted to be like him…"

Jim slowed to a stop as they reached a red light. The car idled smoothly and filled the hollow silence with its deep throbbing. "I wanted to be like you too Dad, but Poppy was different, wasn’t he? He always seemed different to me, ageless sort of…"

The light turned green and the silence reappeared. Jim couldn't believe it, he felt confused and angry; what was his father doing? "Why can't he help me out of this mess? He can't just accuse me and leave me defenceless!" Jim shouted in his head.

Joe knew he needed to respond, but he needed to find his own answers; maybe they needed to discover them together. He turned to his son, "Maybe it was the wisdom of age? Though, I know it just wasn't how old he was. Everyone thought Poppy was different." Joe rubbed his ear," Probably because he was…"

Joe knew they were dodging the real issues, he could sense that the answers lay in the car somewhere. The gurgling, the emotion, the heat, all centred on this car. They had to open it up, discuss it, even if it was going to be difficult. He looked at his son, "He knew you’d need a vehicle." Joe held his breath, simple remarks like that had resulted in heated arguments in the last weeks.

"You don’t just mean a car, do you Dad?" Joe could hear it was a real question, Jim really wanted to know; he breathed again, maybe they were getting somewhere.

Jim knew they were getting somewhere, it felt like a boil being lanced: the pain of the incision completely overwhelmed by the relief experienced by the release of the pressure.

Joe looked at his son, "I know he wanted you to be able to get work. To improve your life."

Jim remembered again the story his father had told him, how the car was a Godsend to Poppy and his family. "I might start taking my car to work again," Jim glanced hopefully toward his father.

"It’s not the same, Jim. You have turned this car into more than just a vehicle. When people see you driving down the street, it’s not you they are seeing – it’s the car. They wave and whistle at the car. When Poppy drove it, people saw Poppy. I remember. We’d stop and give people lifts, work mates who were dirty, sometimes even drunks to their home. The other day you tried to kill a dog because it got too close to your precious car. Can you see the difference? Your car is no longer a vehicle, it doesn’t do what it was meant to do. Certainly not what Poppy intended it to do."

Jim's eyes became moist, he was not sure why he felt remorse rising within him, "But I thought it was mine Dad? I still get the shopping for Mum. Didn’t Poppy give it to me without strings? He always said that."

"It is your car Jim, but that doesn’t mean that what you have done is right. Just because it was given to you, just because you could afford it, just because you thought it was aesthetically pleasing, doesn’t mean you can change its purpose. This car has to be a vehicle. It was for Dad, and it was meant to be for you too. When it ceased to be a vehicle, it’s whole purpose for existence ceased too."

Joe turned and looked at his son, "It doesn’t even remind you of Dad any more, does it?"

Jim shook his head, he could still feel the disgust he felt looking down on that scared beige FJ Holden the night of the accident. That was the last time he could remember having the car and Poppy together in his thoughts at the same time. It was a shock to realize that what he had always hoped to remind himself of Poppy had actually pushed him out.

Joe intruded on his son's thoughts again, "You said before that it was like Poppy’s presence was in the car. Is it still here, Jim?"

Jim didn’t answer, he didn’t have to: Poppy wasn’t here, not even his memory. Jim had thought it was Poppy, but it was really his own dreams he'd dressed up to look like him. Tears filled his eyes as he realized how wrong he had been, and what he'd done.

–—

Saturday dawned a bright, sunny day and Jim had asked his parents out for a drive, "An important drive," he’d said. Joe and Kathy were not sure where they were going, and Jim wasn't telling. But he said it wasn’t far. They were so persistent with their questions that Jim had had to make them promise to stop guessing. Joe was happy enough to live a few days with uncertainty and just soak up the new peace in the house: he hadn’t seen that silly grin on Jim's face in a long time.

Joe sat smiling in the front seat of the hot rod as they roared off down their street. The car had ceased to be an issue between the two of them. That gurgling emotion had mysteriously died within Joe. It wasn't even a problem being driven about in it anymore, in fact, Joe had difficulty recalling what the problems were about. The peace was just so satisfying.

Joe and Kathy got a big surprise when Jim stopped in front of a car yard. He smiled sheepishly, "I thought you might like to help me find a new vehicle?" Joe grinned warmly at his son, and not even the predatory salesman was enough to steal Joe’s joy.

After walking through about half the yard, a new Commodore seemed to jump out at them. It wasn’t love at first sight, Jim wasn’t sure what impressed him so much, but he felt inexplicably drawn to it as he walked around the back of the car. Jim turned around to look at his father, but he was already hidden under the bonnet inspecting the engine. He looked over at his Mum, she was smiling broadly, arms crossed, nodding her head in amusement: the father and son team was at it again.

After a bit of haggling, the hot rod was traded in on the new Commodore, the contracts signed and the deal finalized. The two cars momentarily stood side by side in the yard, the salesman was saying some sort of inane comment like, ‘She's a beauty this one, not as flash as your old one of course…’ but no one was listening. Jim opened the door for his mother, and then got in beside his father. The engine started first time, and purred – rather than gurgled – nicely.

Jim gently accelerated away from the sales yard and cast a brief proud look at his dad, "Do you think Poppy knew Dad?"

"Knew what, son?" Joe was investigating the glove compartment.

"Well," Jim fingered the steering wheel gingerly, "I don’t think that his FJ could ever really have been my car. His car was always too important to me… it was on a pedestal when it was his car, and more of a fantasy when it was my hot rod." Jim glanced over at his father, he was listening intently, winding his window up and down.

"Dad, you know, I don’t think Poppy’s spirit was ever in that car now, before or after I changed it – it was, just my memory of him. I think this feels more like Poppy’s car now, than the FJ did when I had it."

Joe thought about his own feelings about his father’s car. He knew, and remembered, what the car was to him. They drove a little way in silence, then a smile started to play on Jim’s lips. He hummed contentedly, and the smile bloomed upon his face, "I think Poppy’s smiling Dad!"

Joe closed his eyes, "Yes, so do I Jim!"

Joe finally looked across at his son to answer his question, "Poppy knew many things son, I don’t know if he knew what would happen with his car, but he knew we all had to change. He said it was part of living."

Jim laughed, "Well, I’ve certainly changed cars!"

Joe looked out of his window that was halfway along its ascent, although he wasn’t watching the scenery, or the window. "No. Poppy would say that you are the one who has changed Jim, not the car. You’re not building a facade any more, either old or new."

Jim glanced at his father just in time to see something flash across his face. It was a realization. "His car, this car, are the same vehicle; even the family car at home." The realization had dawned on Joe for the first time: "That’s why Poppy never gave his FJ to me!" He turned to his son, "I already owned it, because I had my vehicle."

It took a little time for Joe to comprehend the words that had just come out of his mouth. Jim had just turned the corner at the end of their street – they were nearly home, "I guess Poppy’s car wasn't just a vehicle for me either, after he'd died Jim. I once thought his car couldn't, or shouldn't change – but it could never remain the same as it was before.

As they drove up to the house, Joe saw the family car parked outside the garage. "It's the purpose of the vehicle that doesn't change. I suppose I had Poppy's car on a pedestal too; and that, I think, Poppy did know had to change."

Jim turned into the driveway and stopped behind his father's car. He looked at his Dad and smiled, it felt good to be united with his father again.