I Know He’s Coming Back

One day, a long time ago, I was a brand new truck.

Someone’s pride and joy.

Then one day, he parked me here and said he’d be right back. I didn’t know where he had to go that he couldn’t take me.

I still remember the day he came and rescued me from The Lot. I had been on The Lot for a year. I don’t know where I was before that, but I didn’t think I’d ever leave. Big Steve, the man that owned The Lot, would bring people by to see me, but then he’d always steer them away.

“You don’t want that Mack Jr.; take a look at this REO Speedwagon,” and off they’d go. I guess my daddy was Mack Sr., but I don’t remember him.

Sometimes Big Steve would come sit on my fender, reading a Superman comic book, mumbling about something called a ‘New Deal’ from someday named, ‘That Damn FDR.’ But when the people came to look at new trucks, he just ignored me.

Then one day the man came. When he saw me, he bust out in a big old grin and said, “That there’s the one for me.”

Him and Big Steve argued for a spell, but in the end, they traded some papers, and the man drove me away from The Lot, and I never went back.

While he was driving to my new home, he rubbed my dash and said, “Hey, Bessie. Me and you’s going to be good friends. My name’s Joe.”

I don’t know why he thought my name was Bessie; it says Mack right there on my nameplate. I figured once he looked under my hood, he’d know I wasn’t a girl, but he just kept on calling me Bessie.

I didn’t really mind; he took me away from The Lot and always treated me right good.

When he got to my new home, he put me in a little house that was all my own. I wouldn’t have to get rained and snowed on, or baked in the hot sun. And even though I stayed clean in there, if I got the least little bit of dirt on me, he’d come out with a bucket of water and a rag and wash me up right smart.

And every time he took me somewhere, he always patted me on the hood and said, “Hey, Bessie girl, want to go for a ride?” I know he’d looked under my hood many times, but I guess he didn’t know what all them little doohickies was for, so he still thought I was a girl.

But I always started right up and off we’d go to the market or the general goods store.

On Saturdays, he’d take me to something called a ball game. I don’t know what they were doing in there, but they was an awful lot of screaming and cheering. When he come out again, sometimes he’d be happy and sometimes mad, but he still patted me on the hood and said, “Hey Bessie, let’s go home.”

On Sundays, he’d come out all fancied up and take me to another place. They was always a bunch of pretty singing and such.

But one Sunday, he took me to another place a long ways off, with a sign out front that said Hospital. He was gone a long time, and when he came back, he was sadder than I’ve ever seen. He didn’t pat me on the hood, just started me up and took me home.

It wasn’t long after that, he drove me here, got out, and said he’d be right back.

I’ve been sitting here for a long time waiting for him to come back. Longer even than I sat in The Lot. My tires is still good, but my body aches and creaks all over. I can’t see through my windshield anymore, so sometimes, I turn on my lights. I used to toot my own horn, but it got too rusty, and now it won’t make any noise.

I hope he comes back soon. I miss our rides together.

Have you seen him?

I hope he comes back soon.

If you enjoyed this article, please consider dropping me a tip below. Thanks for reading.