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Francis, the Car

September 11, 2016

Dear Dad,

I am driving your car. It is my daughter’s car now, and before that it was her father’s car, after you died and no one knew what to do with your car because we all had cars already and who cared, anyway, about a car. So we gave it to her father, who was between cars, and then one day when I still thought it was too early to let our daughter have a car he gave her the car, and she drove it, and it became a sort of cabin for all of her ribbons and shoes and books and sweaters. It was cosy. On her first day driving to school she ran out of gas, and called from the highway. Her father brought her gas in a gas container he kept at the house, for his lawn mower and for the people he loved who were sometimes forgetful.

She named the car after you.

I remember you asked me to stop by the gas station as you had filled the tank and driven away without paying. I remember you wrote a note on the insurance bill which read ‘Enclosed please find my check for the premium. Many happy returns of the day.’ to whoever might open the envelope.

And now my daughter is in school and my car is in the shop, so I am driving your car.

This is my postcard from your car. I am having a good time and I wish you were here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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One Comment leave one →
  1. judithkunst permalink
    September 12, 2016 5:34 pm

    Love this postcard! Maybe I’ll write one from my grandmother’s chair.

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