A Boy and His Truck · 11 October 2014
I hope you like my first try at #TwitterFiction. If you want to see it in its Twitter form, follow me on Twitter (@MichaelTMiyoshi).
A Boy and His Truck
There once was a boy with a truck; it was red
Nothing could get between them ‘twas said
It was not that he loved that old truck, no sirree
It just seemed that it was part of his family.
The boy was alone with his little old truck
He had sworn off all women, ‘cause in love he’d no luck
Then he went off to high school to teach a math class
That’s when he met a bonnie teacher lass.
A Boy and a Lass
The two had just started new teaching careers
They spent day after day with some of their peers
Just doing the stuff new recruits need to do
Before they set off as the new teaching crew.
On the last day before classes, there was one final thing
All the staff was together at one large gathering
They were there to hear speakers ere the school year did start
A class to remind them to all do their part.
The boy offered a hand to the bonnie teacher lass
But she did just shun him as they sat down for class
They got inspiration for the brand new school year
The boy heard not a thing because the lass was so near.
The year got underway it was teach, teach, teach, teach
The boy knew the heart of the lass out of reach
The bonnie teacher lass had no interest at all
Thought the boy every day, as he walked down the hall.
Still each day he would see her and hope they could talk
More than the banter they shared on each short hallway walk
He thought a first date should be what he asked her
But then he remembered that first day disaster.
The boy thought of the lass rejecting his hand
And the outright rejection was all he could stand
But the boy did not know there was something more to it
So it was the bonnie teacher lass who had to pursue it.
The lass had a mind of her own don’t you see
She knew that the two of them were meant to be
But she did not trust to the boy or to luck
She decided to ask him if she could just borrow his truck.
The boy would not let the lass borrow his pride
Instead he insisted that she could just ride
So off they went to do errands and such
Errands requiring the use of the boy’s truck.
A Boy and a Lass and Their Truck
The truck was like Cupid for the boy and the lass
Wedding bells rang after a year teaching class
But the story’s not over for the boy, lass, and truck
They were all in for a short run of bad luck.
The truck became theirs when the preacher said, “Kiss.”
And the bad luck held off for years of wedded bliss
But when the kids came, the truck suffered withdrawal
You see it was too small to handle them all.
So the boy left the truck to do deeds like dirt hauling
And the truck was neglected with nary a calling
The truck was still faithful always doing its job
But if trucks have deep feelings, that red truck did sob.
Then one day after years of neglect and abuse
The boy started giving that truck much more use
He drove it and drove it and drove it some more
The truck was so happy to get out of the door.
That’s when the string of bad luck came about
There was a time or two when the gas just ran out
There was pushing weight limits in terms of each haul
And then came the biggest mistake of them all.
It was hot out that day and there was no water
And as the little red truck ran, it got hotter and hotter
But the boy thought, “This truck has been so good to me”
He figured it would make it; it was just meant to be.
But the abuse and neglect had taken their toll
And the little red truck’s tires seemed to roll their last roll
Yes, the boy ran that little red truck oh too far
He broke it and so he had to get a new car.
But the boy and the lass still loved that red truck
And they thought that there must still be some kind of luck
So the boy tried to fix all that little truck’s ills.
(Unfortunately there were no little truck pills.)
The boy set to the task of rebuilding the engine
There was no timetable set for the task to be endin’
With lots of TLC and a great deal of learning
The boy hoped he could get those old truck tires turning.
Armed with wits and his tools, the boy set to his task
And all of his friends answered all the questions he’d ask
Intrepid was he and he got right down to it
He hoped that the truck would just make it through it.
In the end all his knuckles were banged up and bruised
The boy thought that he was the one being abused
But he figured it penance for all the pain he had caused
And as he finished the job he took a moment and paused.
He thought about all the times that he and his truck
Had been through for ages through good and bad luck
He smile when he thought of his truck playing Cupid
When the boy with the lass was acting quite stupid.
He thought about years of driving and hauling
He thought about tears caused by missing the calling
Of a little red truck who was tired and broken
But now was fixed up ready to be awoken.
Then after the test drive that said the job’s done
He gave the truck keys to his eldest son
“Take care of her son, and she’ll give you good luck”
And the story continues, about a boy and his truck.
© 2014 Michael T. Miyoshi
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