The Classic

Light shone through the blue curtains of Mason’s bedroom window. Every morning he turned to the window, cursing his decision for choosing a color that so closely matched the sky.
By the smell of his mother’s coffee and his little sister’s screams about losing her ballet slippers, it was unmistakable that it was already morning.
Mason turned to his left side and pulled the blankets over his head. It wasn’t because he was tired, only that he knew that at any minute, his sister, Emma, would come running through his bedroom door, claiming that he stole her ballet slippers, and she would be correct. He was counting down in his mind, knowing precisely when the door would swing open.
“Now!” he whispered.
The bedroom door swung open, and his seven-year-old sister jumped on top of him.
“WHERE ARE THEY?” she demanded.
As Mason struggled to escape his sister’s hold, the landline phone rang. Seldom did anyone call on the landline. His parents only kept it in emergencies if the cell phone towers went down. Only a few people, like his grandparents, knew the number. If it rang, it was someone trying to sell something or an emergency.
“Tell me!” Emma screamed.
Mason pushed her off, rolling her to the floor on the other side of the bed. She was about to pounce again when Mason held up his hand for her to pause.
“Hold on, something’s up,” he whispered, then motioned to the door.
Emma’s face contorted, causing the tip of her nose to nearly touch her eyebrows. “Who is mom talking to?” she asked as she sat beside him.
They both listened to their mother’s conversation. Her voice seemed strained and business-like. The last time Mason recalled his mother speaking similarly was when a great-aunt had died. The heavy clang of the receiver returning to the hook was followed by stairs creaking.
Mason’s mother gave his door two quick knuckle taps, then opened the door.
“Are you busy?” His mother asked as she peeked inside. When she saw Emma, she rolled her eyes. “Where did you put them?”
Mason hemmed and hawed for a moment, then nudged his sister to the door. “Freezer.”
Emma jumped up, running to the door. “I’m going to KILL you!” she screamed as she ran downstairs to the kitchen.
His mother sat on the bed, trying not to laugh. “Why do you torment your sister like that?”
“Because I’m not a fan of tea parties and dolls,” Mason mentioned. His mother shot him a crosswise glance. “And it’s fun.”
His mother released a long, exacerbated sigh. “Anyway… that was your aunt on the phone. Grandpa’s dementia is progressing at a faster pace. He forgot that he couldn’t drive and tried to start his car. She knows you just passed your driver’s license test and was asking if you would like his car. If not, she needs to sell it. We can’t risk him trying to drive.”
Mason wanted to say yes immediately. Anything with wheels was better than relying on his friends for a lift or, worse - riding the bus to school. Then he remembered the car was practically as old as his grandfather.
“I don’t know. Does it even run?” Mason asked.
“Well enough that we can limp it over here. As for the rest, it would be a good weekend project for you.” His mother enticed. The left side of Mason’s mouth pulled against his cheek with his hesitation. Noticing his expression, his mother nodded understandingly. “Look, I can’t afford to buy you a car, and I doubt your father will be able to, either, with his new wife pregnant and all. If you want a car, this is your best chance.”
It took only a moment for her words to sink in. “When can we pick it up?”
That afternoon, he and his mother went to his grandfather’s old farmhouse. A 1961 Mustang was parked in front of the house. The car looked like it hadn’t been washed in a decade. Mason was about to tell his mother to turn around when he noticed a charm of an electric guitar hanging from the rear-view mirror.
“Why don’t I remember this car?” Mason asked his mother.
“Your grandfather stopped driving years ago. He loved this car so much that he didn’t want to sell it,” she explained.
Mason limped the car ten miles home, his mother following behind in case he needed help. As he pulled into the driveway of his house, the muffler broke off. Mason jumped out of the car, hearing the loud crash. All he could think of was that he had hit something. When he saw it was the muffler, he wished he had.
His mother paused, looking at the muffler. “I grabbed some of your granddad’s tools. They’re in my trunk. As for this, one word – YouTube.”
Mason stared at the car, unsure what to do. “What about YouTube?” He thought about what she meant, then took out his phone, searching - how to fix a muffler.
He spent every free moment repairing his car for the next three months. Mason even found a job at the local car junk yard which helped pay for the parts he needed. Finally,
the last thing he needed to make his car epic was new seats. When a car similar to his came in with beautiful leather seats, he had to have them. He managed to convince his boss to sell the seats to him for a bargain.
That night, he worked on removing the weatherworn seats in his car. Then, he discovered an envelope of old pictures hidden between the passenger seat and the center council. He flipped through the photos, all of teenagers his age, partying at the local lake, hanging out in the parking lot at the football game, and attending high school events. Mason looked closer, realizing that several pictures were of his grandfather.
Suddenly, the car looked different to him. It wasn’t just some old piece of junk he was fixing up. It was his grandfather’s life.
The following day, Mason drove to his grandfather’s house. His grandfather was sitting on the porch, staring out over the fields. When he saw his old car, he slowly stood.
Mason parked and stepped out. “Hi, granddad. How is she looking?”
The old man was speechless.
“I called Aunt Sharron, and she said it was okay if we go for a drive.”
His grandfather practically ran to the car. For the entire day, Mason drove his grandfather around, listening to stories about the car. He couldn’t recall seeing his grandfather so happy.
When they returned to the farm, his grandfather noticed the electric guitar was still hanging from the rearview mirror.
“This was my father’s car. He gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday. Boy, we had some good times. That electric guitar was given to me by your grandmother after I took her to a Stones concert. It was the best night of my life.”
“I thought it looked cool, but if you want it back–“ Mason offered.
Mason’s granddad patted his shoulder. “No, she wouldn’t be whole without it. Take good care of her.”
“I will,” Mason assured. He handed his grandfather the pictures.
His grandfather refused to take them. “Keep them, to remember.” He stepped from the car, patting the hood as if to say goodbye.
Mason drove on, smiling as he thought about their day together. “I will.”