The Ghost of a '57 Chevy

"Tommy's family took it pretty hard, too. Both the crash and later his death. Not surprising. For years his dad kept the old wreck around. Always said he had some idea of fixing it up to sell, but even he knew it was impossible. Finally, he gave that up and let a junk yard take it. I happened to be there when they brought it in and I saw it crushed into a small cube. Nothing but scrap steel left."

He shook his head. "The mine closed and most people moved away but those two families never left. I believe all of both families are dead now. The old motel is still standing over on Pinewood Road but it hasn't been in use in years. And, as I said, the car could never be anything more than scrap metal."

Don had been listening intently. Pinewood Road was where the motel had been where he had first seen the car. Couldn't be two old motels on that road. No way. He brought out his camera and brought up some of the photos, but with a catch in his voice and before he showed them to Joe he asked, "Do you know what the girl looked like?"

Joe smiled. That I would never forget. She was definitely a looker. A wonderful smile, beautiful eyes."

Jenny was a common enough name in this area but Don could feel the prickles running up and down his spine. He brought up the camera and showed a picture of the car with his Jenny leaning back against the finder. "Did she look like this?" he hesitantly asked.

Joe looked at the photo. Slowly he shook his head back and forth. "No. Jenny was fairly short, about five foot three. She had shoulder length brown hair and golden brown eyes. She was built as well as this girl, but otherwise she didn't look anything like her." Don let out the breath he had been holding.

Joe went on. "But the car looks just like the one Tommy had. Same color, same style. His had the big 283 engine. Does this one?" Don nodded. "Had some extra gages inside, too. Even whitewall tires just like this one."

"Not to mention the same VIN number," Don murmured to himself.

Joe laughed. "Not likely. No, the car with that VIN was totally destroyed. Not possible - unless you believe in ghosts." The prickles were back again. "Who is this girl anyway?"

"She's someone I met in town there right after I bought the car. Said her name was Jenny Mae. Thought she was from around here. Any idea who she is?"

Joe looked up at him. "Can't say as I've ever seen her." Then he looked over at Don. "You spent the last week with her, didn't you?"

Embarrassed, Don could only nod. "Can't say as I blame you. I'm sure I would have done the same thing. As long as they're over eighteen and not paid we don't care."

"Does this happen often?" Don asked. "I mean out of town men meeting up with young girls."

"I won't say it's real frequent but happens more often than most people would believe. There are really three types of girls who will do that. One, the ones who want out of here and can't see any other way. They'll try to get a guy to take them elsewhere - usually the 'big city'."

"Then there are some around here who are - for want of a better word - just sluts. They like sex and aren't particular with whom."

"Third, and maybe most surprising to most people, there are college girls who want to just go wild for a summer. They believe everything they hear about us 'hillbillies.' You know, 'What's a Tennessee virgin? A twelve year old who can outrun her brothers.' They think they can come in here where no one knows them, act loose, and fit right in. Like I said, as long as they're over eighteen and not paid we don't care. They usually want to just have fun for a summer and then go back to their real lives. In fact, it's usually not for a whole summer. Just long enough for a real fling. Most of them are really quite nice girls. I remember once I happened to be in some bar on another matter when the owner came over and asked me to help. There was this girl who looked about sixteen or so and didn't want to show an ID but still wanted to get a drink. She spoke with what sounded like a local accent and was raising a little ruckus and he asked me to help out. I showed her my ID and asked for hers. Suddenly she was very cooperative and showed me her driver's license. She was from Boston, twenty-three years old, and a PhD candidate at Harvard. Just didn't want anyone to know her real name. I called in the license to make sure it was her, and it was, so that was the end of it."

Don thought about it. That could be Jenny. She had seemed just a little out of place here. A little more widely experienced than a local girl would be. And with her it was a fling - a truly wonderful fling.

They talked for a while longer and then finally Don stood. "Joe, I'd like to thank you for everything. The drink and especially the information."

"I doubt it will help you get your car back, but you're welcome." They shook hands and then Don left.

He headed back along the small roads towards the interstate. At the intersection with the big highway he stopped for gas and a cold coke. Before he pulled back onto the big road he sat back and closed his eyes for a few seconds, his hand resting on the shift lever of the little Ford. But with his eyes closed it wasn't the little Ford. Instead of the little four cylinder he felt the rumble of the big V-8, ready to leap down the road when he let out the clutch. His hand was ready to shift the more powerful car into gear and the hand that rested on top of his or sometimes on his thigh was that of a young and incredible lovely blonde girl. He was nineteen again and full of life, the world full of excitement.

He suddenly realized that he didn't really care if he got the Bel Air back. Even before he had bought the car, he had thought that he would be happy to pay five hundred to rent it for a few days. He had had it - one way or another - for more than that and made an unbelievable trip with a woman he could never have imagined in his wildest fantasy. It didn't matter if the Chevy had been real or the ghost of the old one. The trip was real. The girl was real. And nothing would ever take that away from him.

Slowly he opened his eyes and the present world returned. He let in the clutch and realized he had not been this sad - or this happy - in a long, long time. He pulled onto the big four lane highway and headed back home.