[ WP ] One last time

He remembered when gas was cheap. 5 bucks a gallon, maybe in the high 4s if you were lucky. Then it became 6, then 7, all the way up to 15 before people realized that there was no real reason to own a gas car anymore. Everybody had moved on. The hydrogen-powered trucks and buses handled heavy loads, and regular electric cars moved everybody about for their day-to-day business. 
 
 He just could n't let her go, though. That Trans Am held so many memories. The exhaust leak when she was cold that woke the neighbors up in the morning. Having to plug in a block heater in the winter, and having the V8 growl when she finally started, scaring the rabbits in the shed. Putting her into 5th and sneaking back to the house at night, barely keeping the engine running, only to have it backfire right as he got to the garage. He remembered his first oil change, where he did n't put the plug back in right and spilled it all back onto the floor. You could n't buy oil anymore these days. 
 
 `` One last time,'' he whispered mournfully as he turned the key. The starter had been struggling since last winter. He tried once, twice, 3 times. Nothing. He popped the hood to spray some starting fluid in the air filter. His last bottle. He remembered when all cars had the engine in the front, and the trunk in the back. Spraying some fluid in, he opened the door again and turned the key, on the gas a little. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as she started, rumbling away. There was n't that sound anymore. It was a bad thing, in his opinion. Too many kids were getting hurt because the cars were so silent these days. 
 
 Clutch in, into reverse, clutch out with a bit of gas. A small chirp of the rear tires proved that she still had grunt. On the street now. Clutch in, into first, clutch out with a lot of gas. The black beast slithered a bit before the tires bit into the tar, and the car surged forward. Second, third, fourth, back to second. This was his road, all right. No traffic, no cops, winding corners. He let off the throttle as he entered the corner, and got back on the gas right away. Textbook lift-off oversteer. The gas needle ticked to 1/8 tank. The change oil light had been on for a while. 
 
 The back roads eventually ended, of course. On the highway, he drove with the windows down, not caring about efficiency, just savoring the noise of the engine. The belt on the supercharger whined, and the wheels rattled, unbalanced from rust. People gave him funny looks as he arrived into town, with several small children asking their parents, `` What's that, mommy?'' *That's the sound of the past, kiddo. * he thought. 
 
 The past did have to end, though. He had stalled as long as he could, but it was finally time to put her to rest. He finally arrived at the museum and the oil pressure gauge dipped a little in protest. Parked, he got out and took one last look at her, and several dozen photos of her every angle, and every little quirk she had. Driving her into the drop-off lot, he left the spare key and the starting fluid on the dash, with a short note telling the caretakers to put cardboard under her engine if they liked their floor. Choking back tears, he hailed a taxi. It was n't all bad, he supposed. At least she would be remembered. 
 
 
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 I have turned myself into a complete sobbing mess writing this, I apologize for poor grammar/word choice/other in the end paragraphs.
