Cornelia Test-n-Tune

Quickly, hurried before the sun falls behind the treeline, I rush to make the necessary repairs to the old truck. This old beater truck is me; this rusted, bruised shell has a strong heart and miles left inside the core.

Flipping the pages of the manual I learn that I need to check levels, particularly the brakes. I can't stop. I have to stop, that is part of forward motion--the ability to stop is very handy when you are driven. My fluid is below the marker so I fill the reservoir with the magic juice that helps control momentum. This truck and I try to find a balance between forward and motionless in careful swigs of liquid, preventing a disasterous crash.

I see in the handy directions of the manual that I need to ignite the engine and check how the heart of the truck feels. I sit inside the cab, feeling the key into the special slot that clings tightly around the probe and fits so perfectly. I turn it and send electric sparks into the core, into the heart, and it resounds with a rumble that echoes off of Stone Mountain. I idle in the driveway, I let my core burn.

The truck's handbook tells me to check the speed, to turn the engine down if running too fast. It tells me to amp up the engine if the motor is stuttering or coughing or hesistating. I twist it up. I twist it louder! I feel for the engine because it strains, but vibrates so good...making my heart roar and skin scream and feel completely alive. But wisdom causes me to spiral the idle back to a calm, even click. It purrs now, the engine's output is smooth and the feeling of a strong-running, enduring vehicle is mine. This balance, this proper tuning, is me and my truck and everything I breathe or touch or believe--a connection of harmony.

I turn off my truck and lower the hood, feeling the click of the latch. I lock the doors and watch the fading hue strokes of the day's end between the jagged treetop line in the distance from the empty truck bed. I feel quiet and solitude inside of cold night air.

I wait for my passenger, a pleasant hope, as I smoke a cigarette tonight.