The Bomb.

Kind of funny that nowadays this is a common term for something great.  What I'm referring to is an old car we inherited from my Grandmother.

For years, we affectionately referred to this car as The Bomb.  It was a maroon Chevy Malibu.  Not your modern day tiny ass Malibu.  This was the real deal and it was a big ass car.  It had black cloth bench seats in the front and in the back.  Four dours.  By the time us kids got it it was a piece of shit.  But it ran.  And ran.  And ran.  God help us, we couldn't believe how long this thing ran.  And boy, did we have some fun in this thing.  One of the hardest times I've ever laughed was when one of my sister's were driving my brother and I somewhere.  We went around a corner and the back door flew open and my brother ended up on someone's lawn.  For the next three years, whoever sat in the back seat on the passenger's side had to hold the door shut.  Things were just so much simpler then.

Another time, one of my sister's (same one) had some friends over and they were having a good time.  They decided to take me, my brother and one of my friends out joy riding.  We went down to the community pool parking lot (apparently a reall hot spot for gettin' down).  We'd park next to someone and all smash our faces against the windows with big smiles until someone noticed us.  Sooooo stupid, but we laughed so frigging hard.  Then we decided it would be a good idea to spray shaving cream on the windshield.  Not a great idea.  Of course we went off running and screaching away before the guy could get his pants back on.  Great fun when your 13 and your really mean 17 year old sister is finally paying attention to you.  Gosh I thought that was great.  And it was.

Anyway, The Bomb was a great car.  I never got to drive it though.  By the time I got my license, it had been passed on to my cousin and it died a not so peaceful death in College Point, Queens.  It had been stolen!  What kind of idiot would steal that car I can't imagine.  It was finally found on Queens Blvd. pretty much stripped down to nothing.  Tires were gone.  The bench seats too.  We were all kind of sad when we had heard what happened.  Even though it was just a car.  When I think of it now, I still feel warm.  That car was always warm.  I think of us going over the RMC Bridge with the windows rolled down.  It always reminds me of Summer.  Or rather, Summer always reminds me of The Bomb.