Member-only story
My First Spaceship
Navigating Car Survival
I used to stare at my dad’s neglected red spaceship in his driveway; a faded 1991 Pontiac Transport font rested on its back. Its pointed front hood and giant windows made the driver’s seat the perfect cockpit. I’d ask my dad, “Why don’t you ever use it?” He’d say, “She doesn’t want to fly anymore.” I disagreed. I knew nothing about cars, but my legs were tired from riding my bike everywhere. On my eighteenth birthday, he convinced a mechanic friend to resurrect the spaceship and gave it to me. Whether I was ready or not, I was about to learn a lot of lessons.
Her back wing popped within the first week. I didn’t know how to change a tire, and the first one was the hardest. It happened on a regular scorching summer day in Miami around melt o’clock. I was alone and had no one to call. Luckily, I was a short, painful walk away from a tire shop.
An hour later, I finally stepped into the shop. It looked like it had been around for decades, but I only noticed it the day I needed it most. They gave me the scared and exhausted child discount on a replacement tire and drove me back to the spaceship. They asked if I needed help but left before I could answer.
I saw them an hour later when I walked back into their shop, looking for a wrench and car jack. This time, they seemed busy and didn’t give me a…
