The Glovebox Chronicles #5Table of Contents
Spirit of '76 by Calamity Jewelz
A Dispirited and Distasteful Diversion by Fred Argoff
Driving to Work by Jim Sullivan
Winners of the Air Freshener Contest
A Boy and His Car by Eric Lyden
Car Dreams by Jesse Reklaw
Slow Wave by Jesse Reklaw
Driving Around Finland by Marita Lahinen
Look Out Lancaster by Anne Thalheimer
My Gift to Humanity by Jeff Chapman
Tales of a Drug Runner by Alden Scott Crow
Great Cars of the World by Kiel Stuart
Andy Brown Buys a Truck! by Al Cene
Tires: Hell's Black Donuts by Wm. Jed Orndorff
Capitan del Carro by Richie Narvaez
About the Contributors
My mother believed that dreams about driving symbolized control over your life: if you dreamt you were lost, or had trouble steering, it probably meant real life was getting out of hand. After my parents' divorce, I lived with Mom in a smallish aqua house she rented in suburban Sacramento. I was sixteen, making my first driving mistakes in her monstrous white Ford. Mom's boyfriend Daryl had urged her to buy it, although a roaring V-8 engine was totally inappropriate for a schoolteacher. Its idle growled like a pitbull ready to kill. Daryl had also convinced mom to purchase a garage-full of "cut-rate" windows, intended for some nebulous dream house. He also stored his bargain glass there, stacked together with mom's along the sides of the garage. So, analyze as you wish, but my recurring high school dream was attempting to park this huge white muscle-car in Mom's tight, glass-lined garage--frequently losing control and smashing through the windows.
Later, during my senior year, I lived with Dad and had use of his lime-green 1.5-ton Ford pickup. This thing had a good 12-15 years on the road, with lots of play in the steering wheel, barely functional brakes, and a useless emergency brake. Cruising the neighborhood at 30MPH, I would have to pump the pedal 200 feet in advance if I hoped to stop at an intersection. As the year wore on so did the brakes, and I'd sometimes have to throw the beast into park at a red light if I didn't want to roll forward into traffic. You can imagine what this did to my dreamlife: inability to stop the truck, unavoidable collisions, missed turns, etc.
(Editor's note: Like Jesse, I have had my share of car related nightmares. My own personal nocturnal horrors include the steering wheel not working- has happened in waking life, the brakes failing- has happened in waking life, and the worst: the headlights going out while on a pitch black road- has happened in waking life. Cars are nightmares indeed.)
I kept a brief dream journal as an assignment for my high school psychology class; here's a relevant dream of my lime-green chariot:
I had just come home from a movie when my friend Ray showed up in a new black truck. Ray went to take a shower, so my friend Dave and I decided to test-drive his truck. When we got in, however, it started by itself and drove us back to the movie theater. Dave got out and began to walk away, but I knew that if we left Ray's truck it would take off without us; so I called Dave back and as soon as he sat down, it drove off. When we got home the truck turned itself off.
Somehow we all got to a huge party at someone's dingy house. It was an overcast day and there were many people lounging around on blankets in the front yard. I was unconscious, either from drinking too much, or from being beaten--there were many bruises on my face. Two people were looking for me: Cheryl (my girlfriend at the time) and some older guy. While they were looking inside the house, some people took me away to a special place, but I don't know where. I think it was the hospital I was born in.
When I woke up outside of the hospital, Dad's truck was there, along with some other people. I tried to start the truck psychically. Everyone laughed skeptically, but I started it and then took off for the party. I met up with Cheryl and an older guy. The party had grown into a huge Satanist-thing and there were rumored to be demons inside the house. Cheryl didn't really know about this, but the guy did. I convinced them to leave in Dad's truck (which hadn't shut off yet). I had to show the guy how to drive it and while demonstrating, I accidentally put it in gear and nearly ran it straight through a house.
The guy was afraid and unsure that he could drive the truck, but he agreed to do it. I ran alongside for a little, hanging on to Cheryl's window. When they left I cried while waving goodbye, for it was symbolic of a greater parting. Then I cautiously neared the house. I was prepared to walk in inconspicuously and examine what was happening, but before I could step into the doorway I woke up.