What Do You Mean You Can't Take Him Back?

My last official purchase whilst still living at my parents’ house – and the mode by which I left it – was a 1968 Ford Falcon, an old car in great shape.

All it needed was speakers for its intriguing stereo system.

And when I refer to a stereo “system”, let us be clear that the “system” was a radio with a built-in cassette player.

I wasted no time in getting two used speakers at a garage sale.

For two dollars, you just knew they had to be good!

I ran the wires from the radio to the speakers in the back and fell asleep that night with dreams of how I would make this car really cool, maybe dropping the chassis, having my name etched into the glass on the driver’s side window, buying a metal clip with a big feather attached to it for a key chain and similar necessary and perfectly legal things.

When I awoke, however, and went out to drive my new car to my new job, I could not help but notice the number of things that had accumulated in my car overnight.

Sand. Lots of sand. A pair of swim fins. Several empty Budweiser beer cans. A man’s swim trunks. A woman’s bikini top but no bottom.

The mind. She boggles.

There was a note on the front seat from my brother. He is one year younger than I and has been the figurative elbow in my ribs since they brought him home from the hospital. Attached to the note was a single dollar bill.

“Hey, Squirrel. Nice car. Ha ha. Nice stereo. You should get another set of used, blown speakers and double your sound quality! Ha ha. Here’s a dollar for you. Buy yourself some gas. Ha ha ha. Your loving brother, Kevin.”

My brother.

He's a funny guy.