The alarm is going off.

I struggle to open my eyes. Why does it have to be so loud? I wonder.

Turning onto my side I slap the “off” button and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.

Ouch. Wow, my back is killing me today. It feels like someone took a jackhammer to my 3^rd and 4^th vertebrae, I grumble to myself.

Slowly, I start to walk to the bathroom and splash a little water onto my face. Looking into the mirror I realize how tired I look – thirty five years working with UPS have not left me in the best shape. Seeing the scar across my chest, I shudder to remember the accident two years ago that left me with an S-curve for a spine.

Shuffling out to the kitchen I grab the cream of wheat from the cupboard and place a pan with water onto the stove to boil. Looking onto the room temperature water I realize that I have a few minutes before I can even start cooking my breakfast.

Hmmm, what should I do now?

Almost unconsciously I make the decision to walk out to the garage. It seems that much of the joy in my life is now found in admiring my classic cars.

I take my time getting to the garage and instinctively reach down for the light switches. Over the past four decades I have spent more hours than I can count working on the Corvettes now crowding the garage building.

I step down off of the steps and feel the cool garage floor on my bare feet. Walking up to my silver 1963 Stingray Coupe Corvette I smile, thinking back to the time I bought my first corvette. I was young, only twenty-three, when I walked into the local Chevrolet dealership and placed a down payment on the brand new “Corvette” that everyone was talking about. Once I saw the sleek silver body of the car I was in love. The car had such beautiful lines; it truly did appear reminiscent of the graceful Stingrays found in the ocean. Driving off of the dealer’s lot I revved the engine and sped off in my brand new car. For those first few years I drove that Corvette everywhere. It was one of the few models that included the stock fuel injection system, and once production ended on my model I stopped driving to keep the car as close to mint condition as possible.

After retiring my first Corvette I realized I needed another. It was then that I unconsciously made the decision to become a car collector. Walking past the 63’ Stingray I come to my bright red 1968 third generation C3 Corvette. It was the first year they were manufactured and I had to have one. At the time, I had just started a new position at UPS and was excited to impress my co-workers with my new Corvette. I even took one of the other new hires, Ritchie, out for a drive in it. He was terrified when I got onto the highway, hit the accelerator, and didn’t stop until I hit 130mph. The look on his face was priceless.

I continue my walk around the garage and glance by four more mint condition Corvettes complete with high performance engines and spotless leather interior. Looking down at the windshield of one of the cars I realize that the inspection is overdue. Getting a closer look, I check to see how long it has been since I had last been able to drive it.

“Eight years!?” I audibly yell, in surprise.

Wow, I can’t believe it. It’s been eight years since I last drove this car.

Opening up the door to the car I see a thick layer of dust has gathered on the dashboard. Disgusting, I can’t believe it’s so dusty in here! Getting out of the car, I look over at the silver Corvette and realize that the inspection sticker is once again overdue.

Now I look around the room and see that all of the Corvette’s inspections are overdue. The interior of each one is covered with a thick layer of dust.

When was the last time I actually drove my cars? I questioned.

I could not remember.

When did I stop driving the car that I fell in love with? When did I stop appreciating the rich sound of the motor, the sleek design of the body, or the assuring vibration of the engine I feel sitting in the driver’s seat?

It wasn’t anything that happened overnight, but slowly I forgot how to appreciate these cars. I became so afraid of damaging them in any way that I stopped driving them; stopped fully appreciating them.

Maybe I should go to the DMV today and get them re-registered and inspected, I thought.

No sooner had that thought crossed my mind, these ones followed it… But what if someone scratches it? Think of all the miles I’ll be putting on the motor! I can see their value decreasing as the odometer ticks higher. I’ll have to get them re-waxed and washed after being out on those dusty streets.

I had better just leave them here. They’re safer that way.

It sounds like the water is boiling now. Time for breakfast, I think as I shut the lights off and head back into the kitchen.