OLD ENGLISH TAROT: Ten of Batons

The Wonder of Classic Cars

Hayley walked Rascal. They had moved into the small town weeks before and were still getting acquainted with the close-knit community. Her neighbor had mentioned a trailhead to the state park a few blocks away. There, Rascal, her rambunctious puppy, could run, play and chase squirrels to his heart’s content. Though night was falling, and she figured the trailhead would be closed, Hayley sought it out for future reference and weekend walks.

A cool breeze played with her hair, and crickets chirped. Hayley and Rascal walked down the street, flanked on both sides by the warm, yellow porch-lights glowing in the starry night. They rounded a corner and came upon a dark street. The faint beams of the porch-lights glittered to her right. The left was a dark mess of jumbled shadows.

“I suppose we reached the woods.” 

She rubbed Rascal between the ears; he yipped in reply. They kept walking while Hayley scanned the dimness for the trailhead.

“C’mon, push!” 

A youthful voice sounded in the tranquil night.

Hayley noticed the dark silhouettes of two boys and a car in the moonlight.

“You guys all right?” She called when she reached them.

They were long-haired teenage boys, all knees and elbows, pushing a Volkswagen Beetle that seemed to have run out of gas, or battery. A third, the driver, was a giggling, murky tangle of jutting bones huddled over the steering wheel. 

“Should I call someone?” Hayley offered, taking out her phone.

The boys look puzzled.

In the moonlight, she noticed their bell-bottomed jeans and platform shoes, and supposed them on their way to a costume party, as Halloween was days away.

“Nah, thank you, ma’am,” one boy croaked, “we only need a few more pushes to get this jalopy started.”

Hayley wondered at the word ‘jalopy’. She thought most boys nowadays used the terms ‘clunker’ or ‘crap car’.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you know these cars, just gotta push it in gear and it jump-starts the battery.”

Hayley had no clue about cars, whether old junkers or the latest models with all the bells and whistles. Though she recalled her parents talking about the wonder of the old VW bugs. They were suffocating in summer and freezing in winter, yet simple and reliable. 

“Well, good luck,” she nodded, “you know more about classic cars than me.”

The boys looked baffled for a fleeting instant, then shrugged and got ready to push.

Hayley waved at them, and urging Rascal, who had been quiet between her legs, walked away.

After finding the promised trailhead, Hayley and Rascal returned home via different streets. Entering the house, Hayley set her jingling keys and the bundle of mail on the kitchen counter. 

She was clearing up after a late dinner, when she caught sight of the community newspaper amid the pile of bills and flyers. The headline caught her attention. 

Our Boys Remembered

Today marks the 50th anniversary of the fatal hit-and-run that took the lives of three promising teenage boys as they pushed their 1967 Volkswagen Beetle alongside the state park road. The driver fled the scene and, even now, remains unidentified. Our community has never forgotten and is still seeking answers. 

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