Contrary to what some people would have been expecting, it was not a dark and stormy night. In fact, it was day. Bright, sunny, frigid daytime. I sat in the driver's seat of my uncle's forest green Stealth and gazed out of the windscreen aimlessly. The sky above was that pale blue which made it feel like the roof of the world had been raised up higher than it had been five months before. The windows had fogged up a bit and my breath came out in little white puffs. It had been four years since I was last in this town, at this autoshop. The place was never at a loss for customers, was it? Having left that life behind, I wondered why I had even bothered coming back here after so long. It must have been the force of habit. It's not like I'd bump into anyone that mattered here anyway; they'd all also left long ago.
Actually, the old man that owned the shop remembered me when I went in to get some coffee. It tasted awful as usual, but at least it kept out the cold. In the fifteen minutes it took me to pay for my coffee and carry out some eager and awkward small-talk with the owner -- eager for him, awkward for me -- a small crowd had gathered around the Stealth. Sigh, here it comes. I continued to walk forward, maintaining a steady, forward gaze, sidling through the ring of people and opened the door of the car without a word.
"That's YOUR car??" came the first comment, tone riddled with unmasked incredulity. I guess there was no avoiding this one. Bad choice, me, for coming back to this place for no reason.
I slid my gaze toward the speaker. "Yes."
There were some loud, almost frenzied whispers among my watchers now. Oh boy. "Isn't it THAT car?!" "I thought it was just an urban legend!" This is the boons, you know. "That's definitely the one!" "It hasn't been seen or heard of for more than four years!" People have to move on with their lives, you know. "Is SHE the driver??" "Yeah right, can't be." Pray tell, why not? "Maybe it was sold." "I wonder what happened to…" "Why did it vanish??"
"I drove against this guy once. That's definitely the one. Though, ….the identity of the driver has always been a mystery." The speaker was about my age. Tall, blonde as most of the people in this town were, and green-eyed. Not that I recognized him, or anyone else in the crowd. The only two people I had come to this shop with had left town as soon as we had all graduated. I doubt they were ever going to come back. And then, even they didn't know the truth.
A bright-eyed kid with tufts of red hair sticking out from under his woollen hat stomped forward energetically. "I heard the driver of this baby was unbeatable." That's MY baby, kid. "Heh, are you the one??" I wish you'd stop knocking on the hood that way. "Well? There's no way a girl like you could be that awesome. Hah!"
He sure knows how to pique my sense of competition, doesn't he? "And what if I am?"
"Then prove it! My brother lost against you several times, but I'm different. Let's see if you're still as good as you used to be!! I challenge you to a race! Right here, right now!!!"
Geez. No need for that clichéd dialogue. Why are you shouting?
"Fine, whatever. Since you've just sprung this on me out of the blue when I'm kinda rusty, you'll have to play on my terms, got it? Take off in 20. The forest route. Think you can handle the snowdrifts, kid??" I may as well poke him a bit. It'll make me feel more satisfied after I win. I must have a sadistic streak. "Do whatever prepping you want to do but don't be late. I'm not waiting for you. After 20 minutes, I'll be off whether you're there or not."
"Hah, you old hag!!" Yep, the brat's asking for a beating. "I challenged you!! Of course I'll be there!! Just you see!! I'm going to beat the Stealth!!!"
Twenty minutes later, I had finished my coffee and we were off. Rusty, my ass. I may have left this world, but I never stopped driving altogether. Now that that brat had stoked my competitive fire, I thought this would actually be a lot of fun. Maybe I had come back to the autoshop because I was secretly looking for a challenge. I would get to feel and show off the awesome power of the Stealth once again after four long years. It was turning into an emotional reunion, wasn't it?
Back to the point, I was off to a marvellous start. Just one minute in and I had already put a great enough distance between myself and the others that they'd have little hope catching up to. The forest route was my favourite: starting with a two mile downhill slope on a rarely-used country road and followed by a series of tight curves in a wooded area, it was fun and complex enough that anyone who could manoeuvre through it without going below 40 km/h earned automatic bragging rights. Add snow as deep and powdery as we had today, and things get even more fun. Frankly speaking, you needed "mad skills" to do this one. Clearing the woods and riding the final two-mile plateau was ecstasy, especially with the windows down.
As if surfing on a huge wave of ice, I skidded around the last of the curves. I knew this route by heart. Shift down, gas, up, mirror. A flash of lights behind. Someone was beginning to catch up. So they weren't all complete amateurs and brats, huh. Of course, I'd still be able to beat them, whoever they may be. I pushed at the gas as I entered the plateau and felt, with glee, as the Stealth ate up the road underneath, snow and all. A glance in the mirror told me that the someone I had noticed earlier had made it out of the woods. I was already going at 100 km/h and he was not likely to catch up to me immediately, but it wouldn't hurt to put more distance between ourselves, right? It would be a sweeping victory.
But then things started to spiral. I gave the gas another tap with my foot and heard the engine growl. The speedometer stuck at 100km/h. I pushed harder at the gas. The engine roared, but my speed remained steady. What the hell?? Why wasn't I gaining speed? The accelerator felt a little loose now. Maybe this was the result of disuse? Three seconds later, my foot was pretty much flat on the gas pedal, the engine was screaming, but I remained at 100. My mind was locked. Every edge looked sharper, tinted red. Things began to shake.
Then the panic shifted like a rippled veil; I snapped back together and saw that the heat gauge was going crazy. At this rate, my engine was going to explode. Race or no race, even my pride as a street racer wouldn't let me jeopardize my beloved Stealth!
I slammed the brakes and skidded around to a stop on the side of the road, cushioned from the ditch by a large snowbank. The engine stalled. I tumbled out breathlessly onto the snow just as the car following me skidded to a stop in front of the banked Stealth. To my surprise, a typically plump Aunty-ji jumped out of the car and rushed towards me. She was followed by a wiry-looking Uncle-ji. The Aunty pulled me to my feet and pushed me away from the Stealth, simultaneously checking that I wasn't injured anywhere. I couldn't say anything. All I could focus on was the Stealth. I stared, wide-eyed, as the Aunty lifted up the hood, shook her head at the steam that came bubbling up, and then calmly pulled off and tossed away the back tyres of the car. At the back of my mind, I wondered absently what such a nice-looking Aunty and Uncle were doing street racing. And in this little town of all places. I could only watch in silent horror as they both pushed the Stealth onwards to the finish-line back at the autoshop like some oversized, turbo-powered wheelbarrow. My feet were rooted to the spot, even as the other racers began whooshing by. I was helpless against the devastating realization that was slowly seeping through my mind like icy water:
The Stealth was getting old.
