The Skylark | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: The Skylark | Previous Challenge Entry
By Chris Gursche
04/07/05
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Michael and I had been friends since grade one. Since I was a latch key child, we spent five afternoons a week together. We watched Gilligan’s Island and My Three Sons, played Life, and wrestled until I said “Uncle.” We bothered Michael’s older sister, and then at dinnertime, I went home. I stayed for dinner once, and Michael’s mother served squash. I think his parents felt two children were plenty.

We shared many memorable moments over the years, like the time Michael rode his brand new bike down our front yard hill, through the rock garden, and over the retaining wall, ending up in a tangle on the sidewalk, glasses askew but still grinning. “You are a stupid boy,” was my mother’s only comment. We used firecrackers to blow up model cars and slugs, and when Michael got his pellet gun, we played with it in our back yard until two policemen showed up and scared us.

In elementary school, we were inseparable. Going to different high schools meant we saw less of each other, but since we went to the same youth group, the friendship stayed strong.

We both took jobs to earn money for cars. I spent mine on a 65 Chevelle with three doors. It had four doors when I bought it, but the replacement we bought for the badly dented door didn’t fit (don’t ask), and it wasn’t long until the local constabulary deemed the Chevelle unroadworthy. Michael and I were once again without wheels, but having tasted independence, we were addicted. Now it was Michael’s turn.

Michael and I went to look at the Skylark together. It had been advertised in the paper for $800 or best offer, and our expectations were high. We were not disappointed. A 2 door coupe, the Skylark came without B-pillars, so when the front and back windows were rolled down, there was one big, open, uninterrupted, very cool space; the perfect car for hanging out the windows while cruisin’. We wanted that car. Actually, I wanted that car. Michael wasn’t so sure, and since he only had $550, I had work to do on both fronts. Not an hour later, Michael drove his new car home.

Prepared with red primer, the car was ready for paint. Except for the poor bodywork over the rear fenders. The body filler was at least 3 inches deep at that point. Eddy, the local body-shop owner, laughed at us when we asked for an estimate. Apparently there would be no electric blue silver fleck finish to turn heads. No matter. Girls would just have to focus on our personalities.

With a 350 ci motor and bald tires, the car was great on straight-aways, lousy in the corners, and a lot of fun. We could even beat Corvettes in a race for the first fifty feet. The Skylark was our biggest toy ever.

Michael was behind the wheel the day we drove into a tree. I still remember the dust settling as my brain caught up with the crash. “You are a stupid boy,” rang in my ears. Fortunately no one was hurt, but the car sustained irreparable harm. The curb we hit before the tree caused a square indentation in the right front rim, and pushing back the radiator made the fan shroud interfere with the fan. As we drove away, the Skylark made an awful racket, and limped badly. I was sure the car was done.

Michael wasn’t ready to give up on his investment. He put on the spare, tore away the fan shroud, and the car was as good as ever, if you ignored the big dent right in the middle of the front, and the fact that the hood no longer closed properly. That problem was solved one night on the highway when the string snapped, the hood came up, and moments later sailed merrily over an embankment, taking the hinges with it.

Now the car was really cool. With the hood gone, the old 350 sounded tough. At more than one stoplight we were asked, “What’ve you got in that thing?” until the local constabulary caught up to us and deemed the car unroadworthy.

A month later, I moved away. I saw Michael once since then, only briefly. When we were children, we had a fabulous time doing childish things. The Skylark was a great last memory together. We put those days behind us, and we’ve both moved on.

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