Finn

Finn had one hand on the steering wheel and the other hanging lazily out the open window.  A cigarette smoldered in the ashtray, wisps of smoke curling up to break on the roof of the car.  The scenery dropped lazily behind the black '69 Camaro.

Finn smiled – greatly enjoying the ride.  He took a drag final on the cigarette from the ashtray and flicked it out the open window.  He watched in the rearview mirror, trying to see the thing sparking and rolling on the pavement behind him.  

He didn’t see anything, the car was moving too fast.  

Finn eased up the pedal and let the powerful motor of the muscle car relax into a slower rhythm.  Finn smiled – he wasn’t in a hurry.  

Two days ago Finn had made a very important decision; He was really fucking bored.  Bored with his job, bored with his friends, bored with his apartment, bored with his life.  Routine had become a dirty word.  The solution was easy; stop the routine, do something different, get away from it all.  So Finn did just that.  He broke his lease, said bye to his friends, quite his job, and sold all his possessions except for a blue suitcase packed with a few pairs of blue jeans and some grey tee-shirts.  He threw the suitcase into the trunk of his white Honda Civic and drove down the street to Crazy Dave's Auto Mart.

Twenty minutes later Finn was moving his suitcase into the trunk of a black ’69 Camaro and shaking hands with Crazy Dave himself.  Five minutes later Finn rolled out onto the highway and was testing the dashboard cigarette lighter.  Crazy Dave hadn’t lied, it worked like a charm.

Finn had always loved American muscle cars.  When finally old enough to purchase a new car for himself he was saddened to discover they were all ugly, soft, comfortable lines of plastic and pillow shapes.  At the time, Finn had bowed to societal pressure and a desire to fit in with all the other young professionals - thus, the Honda Civic.  He still kept his eyes open for the elusive American muscle car.  Once or twice Finn had gone to classic car shows to take a look at some of his favorites.  It was always a love-hate experience.  He loved seeing the cars up close and being able to touch them with his hands, but he hated how the cars had been turned into museum pieces.  Finn had gotten into a discussion with the owner of one such sample, a firetruck red ’66 Mustang.

"Great car!” said Finn, running his fingertips along the hard contours of the bright red hood. “How does it handle?”

The owner glared at Finn’s hand, fingertips still resting lightly on the hood. “Oh, well I’m sure it handles great, the insides in as good a shape as the outside... restored to factory condition!”

Finn looked confused. “You don’t drive it?”

The owner’s brow furrowed.  “Of course not!  This car is in perfect condition.  Why would I want to risk taking it out on the open road?”  Motioning behind the row of cars to a pickup with a trailer attached, “I’ve got a trailer I use to transport it when I go to car shows like this.”

“Isn’t a car like this supposed to be driven?  Seen out on the open road?”  Finn ventured, feeling oddly sorry for the car.

The owner raised an eyebrow at Finn.  “Uh, could you please take your hand off the car, Sir?”

Finn quickly lifted his hand away from the glossy surface and backed away from the Mustang, giving its owner one last questioning glance before shrugging, turning around, and walking away.

Occasionally Finn would see a classic muscle car out on the streets of the city where he lived.  They usually had a hard-used look that showed their age and mileage and were being driven by guys younger than him - windows open and blasting shitty music. The specific music didn’t matter – but it was the act of playing it loud enough to drown out the engine as well as everything else within a two block radius.  

It was a crime, thought Finn, to cover up the beautiful engine sound of a car like that.  Therefore, when Crazy Dave admitted to Finn that, sadly, the Camaro’s radio was broken, Finn didn't mind.

11/7/2018 (728)