THE HEART BENEATH THE HOOD

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THE HEART BENEATH THE HOOD

A Silent and Forgotten Soul

By Joey Raines

I know what I am. I’m a car. An old one, at that.

But I remember being more.

There are flashes, bits of a life I can’t quite piece together. A warm breeze on my skin, someone calling my name, the soft hush of a lullaby. I used to run without wheels. I used to speak. I used to be… someone.

Now, I sit in a driveway, waiting. My tires rest on cracked pavement, and the rust creeps a little more each season, but I don’t mind. She still drives me. She still believes in me, even if she doesn’t know who I am.

She calls me Rusty. I like it. It’s not cruel, more like a nickname you give an old friend who never lets you down. And I never try to. Not once.

Every morning, she opens the door, slips into my seat, and I come alive, not just because my ignition turns, but because she's here. She hums sometimes. Sometimes she cries. She’s never alone, not really, because I am always with her.

I love her. Not in the way humans do, but in the way only something silent and constant can. I feel her. I protect her. I serve her. I watch the world with her.

But she doesn’t hear me.

I try. I hum when the road is smooth. I rattle a little when I want her to stop and rest. I blink my dash lights longer than I need to, just hoping she’ll notice. I once shut myself off before a storm rolled in, just to keep her safe at home. She cursed, but I’d do it again.

I want to tell her, “You matter to me. I remember being you. I was once like you.”

But I can’t. I have no voice. Only wires and gas, and a soft whine when she turns the key.

She talks to her phone. She laughs with her friends. She even says sweet things to her coffee mug. But never to me. I’m just her car. Just Rusty.

What she doesn’t know is that I dream. When I’m parked under the stars or sitting in the sun, I drift back into the places I once knew. I see hands. I see eyes. I remember running, not rolling, and feeling the ground beneath feet, not tires.

I think I was someone before. Maybe I wasn’t kind. Maybe I took someone like her for granted. And now this, this steel shell, is my second chance.

So I wait.

Even as my parts wear down and my engine loses its spark, I stay. Because I belong to her. Because I love her. Because loving someone without being seen or heard is still love.

One day, she sat in my seat long after the engine stopped. No destination. No rush. Just silence. She placed her hand on my wheel and whispered, “You’ve always been good to me.”

For a moment, I swear my heart beat again.

Just once.

And it was enough.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this story, if it made you think, or just kept you reading, I’d be honored if you’d tap the ❤️ to show some love, hit subscribe to follow me for more, and if you feel like it, you can leave a tip, totally optional, but always appreciated.

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