GOODBYE, BUDDY HOLLY
By Mason S. Ford
Copyright 2013 Mason S. Ford
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Daryl Porter turned his cherry-red ’55 Chevy Bel Air convertible into the driveway in front of his family home on Railroad Street. The Bel Air boasted a 265 cubic-inch displacement, 195 horsepower engine. It was not new, and the upholstery was showing its age, but it was a good set of wheels. The only two cars in town that he couldn’t beat in a quarter mile were Clyde Bogg’s ‘59 T-Bird and Barry Stahl’s brand new ’63 Corvette.
He let the engine rumble in idle for several minutes. How long would he have to sit there in the idling car before he was overcome by carbon monoxide poisoning, he wondered. Probably a really long time. For it to work quickly, he would need to drill holes in both the floorboard of the car and the exhaust pipe. He sat there thinking for several more minutes before he switched off the ignition. He got out and walked across the lawn to his house.
He climbed the stairs to his room, taking them two at a time, as quickly and quietly as he could, so as not to be heard by his Mom, who, he suspected, was in the kitchen cooking or cleaning or whatever it was she did there at two o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon.