Thief

 

 

 

The moon played hide-go-seek with the tufts of clouds peeping from the graying mists, occasionally   lighting the grounds with a pale, silvery glow.  The shimmering dew atop the blades of grass and the gaunt silhouettes of the tall oaks, each lent themselves to the ghostly magical quality of the late night hour. Not a soul disturbed the sanctity of this quiet section of town. No soul, that is, with the exception of me, who was even now stealing across the driveway, a set of jangling keys in my pocket.

Avoiding the net of beams thrown by the streetlights, I hurried quickly into the concealing brush which lined the sidewalk. Noiselessly, I crept along, keeping my head well below the sight line of the hedge. Occasionally I would pause, listening, thoroughly enjoying the thrill of my actions, The drama in what I was doing pleasing me greatly.

I flattened against the ground, my face chilled by the cold wet grass, as a car turned the corner and passed on up the street. Picking myself up, I slowly covered the remaining few yards between myself and my objective, forcing caution to override my impatience.

I grimaced and swore softly to myself as I realized, standing at the door of the car, that the amount of light sprayed across the driveway was greater than I had anticipated. The full moon the culprit. Sill, the thought of abandoning my mission never occurred to me.  I was too committed for that. I would have to work fast, that was all.

The car door was stiff, and I knew from experience, that it creaked when it opened. I started to fumble with the keys. A crackle of breaking brush from behind the hedge stopped me from my work. Beads of sweat beginning to creep down my face and neck. I remained silent not daring to move in case it was him. But it was nothing, maybe a cat.

The door finally was unlocked, and I pulled it open slowly and slid into the driver’s side on the well-worn vinyl of the front bench. I looked at my watch. Twelve midnight. Everybody would surely be in bed now. The only risk was that the engine start might awaken him. I put the car into neutral and let its weight carry it backwards down the sloped driveway. I let the momentum carry me as I steered out onto the empty street. Only then did I risk starting the motor. It hummed to life. I put it into gear and drove around the block.

And that was how I stole my father’s car for ten minutes in the summer of 1967.