Can you drive stick shift?

A new friend just told me in passing, that he liked cars. I went to sleep wondering what kind of car man he was.

 

Lots of questions for him, way after the conversation was over. Do the cars you have work? Did you work on them yourself? Or are they broken and in need of repair, and you'll get around to them at some point? Are they collectible, expensive, and fawned over by others? Or are they just special to you? What color are they? Do you drive them, or do they sit covered? Have you had sex in your cars? Or, no way, because you stand there with a soft rag to hurriedly brush out any fingerprint or mark from anyone touching them.

Men always say "cars are like women", but that's only because, at first, only men were allowed to have and play with cars. I think, because of how I grew up, men can be just like the cars they pick out and drive.

My Grandfather ran his own automotive repair shop. He started on the Model A's and Model T's. He would let me sit in them and pretend I was going somewhere fantastic. Sometimes, when no one was around, he would pretend with me. We would take wonderful imaginary trips together, long drives to China. He would drive them in the town's parades. Sometimes, I got to ride in the parades wearing an brand new outfit my Grandmother sewed for me. I don't even remember what the parades were about...Only the people, the noise, the waves and claps, my new outfit,s and my Grandfather with the car. His was always the best in the parades. He would later die of cancer because of the asbestos brakes he worked on...we just didn't know then. His shop was one of the first buildings to go up in the tiny, dusty, dry, cotton farming town. He would always wear coveralls and didn't talk much. Sometimes, I would get to go to the shop with him. I would help with handing him tools or kind of fixing stuff. He made me feel important and just like any one of the guys. I wasn't different there because I had a vagina. Lots of men hung out at the shop, shooting the shit among the dust and grease covered chairs.

I grew up liking cars. I can work on them, I don't much care to, but I can do it. I don't get swindled much. I wanted to race cars. I wanted a huge dually truck truck with KC lights. I like early Camero's over Mustangs. And old giant Cadillac's with the giant trunks you can either hide yourself or possibly someone else in. 

I have a Honda Civic. Why? It's economical and dependable, it doesn't even have any bells and whistles on it. It's just a get there and back car.  

But, in my dreams I have all the cars that I wanted, and I have my own coverall, too.