Yet it masked his loneliness, and his inability to forge a relationship with a real person. All he had were these tiny cars, the racing trophies on his shelf, and a Redline Carrera 2 BMX bike handed down from his older brother.
His brother had been his one true friend, and when he left for state college two years prior, the adjustment had been difficult. His mother worked full time and his father was an alcoholic. An introvert by nature, Anton Zimmer was an outcast who found solace only in his hobby.
These battery powered race cars were his obsession. Over the last two years he had forged many great vehicles but there was one that had vastly out performed all the rest. The one he had poured all his heart, soul, and the hard earned paper route dollars into: the Zanzibar 3. The third and most perfect iteration of the Zanzibar series. It represented the apex of his technical and aesthetic skills.
One tragic summer night, in front of his house, he sought to push the ZANZIBAR 3’s RC controlled handling to its limits. So much so that he was oblivious to a Volkswagen weaving awkwardly down his culdesac. The Zanzibar was racing a series of figure 8’s. Anton decreased the radius of his turns with each lap, while subtly increasing speed, as the figure 8’s grew smaller and smaller. The tiny racecar was nothing more then a blur to the casual observer...
Taking only one lane, he assumed this drill would provide plenty of freedom for oncoming traffic. As the Volkswagen approached it abruptly swerved out of the lane it was mean to be in. The impact didn’t register so much as a speed bump. The Zanzibar 3 was flattened, as if it had been a paper cup.
The car stopped. From the drivers seat a 16 year old girl stepped out, followed by her father on the passenger side. Her hand went over her mouth in horror as she looked down to see the flattened RC car lying at her feet.
Ava Selkirk’s father had been giving her driving lessons, it was her first time behind the wheel. While trying to down shift gears on the aging VW Rabbit, she had momentarily lost focus on steering. Long enough to swerve out from her chosen lane and crunch the Zanzibar 3 to a plastic pancake.
Only a sad little Antenna remained vertical. Bent awkwardly out of shape, hanging limply in an ark that connected to the plastic corpse at its base. It gave the impression that it had frantically tried to escape the oncoming car. It was still bobbing gently up and down, in denial, trying to convince itself everything would be ok.
That’s when Ava noticed him standing there. The remote control still in his hands with his finger pressing down on the throttle. Tears leaking out from under his fake Louis Vuitton sunglasses, which were held together by an odd combination of duct tape and wire.
“I’m so sorry.” she said.
Ava and her father invited him to dinner that night. The very next weekend he would join Ava in driving lessons. Unlike her he would quickly adapt to driving a real vehicle. The summer would end with them taking long walks together, watching B horror flicks, and sneaking out the VW Rabbit and doing donuts through the gravel of the stadium parking lot.
Over time Ava’s father helped him buy back the pieces to construct the Zanzibar 4. But it would never be completed. Anton was devoted to a new pastime. Her name was Ava Selkirk.
0 comments:
Post a Comment