Keyblade

The little blue truck didn't start out disreputable. My dad bought it and it was just a tiny light blue truck for odd jobs. When my sister was old enough it became hers, and then my brothers. And then my sisters again. Over the years it got stolen three times and it wasn't hard to see why. Having migrated through family members it picked up some quirks.

It stopped being able to lock when my sister and some friends had a tug of war on the door. It stopped needing a key when my brother taught me how to hot-wire a car on it. It probably kept getting stolen for both those reasons, but it always came back to us, smelling weirder than before. After a while my sister got a new car and the little blue truck meandered back home. My parents talked about giving it to me, but happily it never came to pass.

Even though it was never my vehicle there were some gems in our time together. My sister brought me into downtown Seattle and we clutched our seats with teeth clenched, sweating, wondering what cruel god made hills at a 90 degree angle with manual transmissions.

 But my favorite memory of the little blue truck was after it got all wonky. My dad and I were going to run errands. At this point the little blue truck didn't even have a key, on account if the fact that any bit of metal jammed in the ignition would start the disloyal thing. My dad had a saw blade he used for this purpose. He had just started playing Kingdom Hearts, and as he stuck the saw blade into the dilapidated ignition he turned to me with this huge goofy grin and said, "Look, a keyblade!"

 

I almost wish I could have gotten a chance with the little blue truck. I would have cosplayed as Sora every day and carried around a keyblade which with some finagling could have probably started the truck.