22" x 28"
Mixed Media on Paper
The red topper to our 1980 dirt-brown Ford pickup rattled loud, so you could always hear our truck coming before you saw it. I usually pretended not to see it whenever Dad or Mom came for me. I wouldn’t notice the wheels and paneling made smoky gray from layers and layers of dust, or the plaid blanket used to cover the grill in winter, or the edges of the body bumpy with rust. Before the pickup could get too close, I’d choke down my self-concept, run to meet my approaching ride, slide into the front seat, and beg the driver to make haste.