I couldn't sleep well that night. Just like other nights the cold wind blew against the wall, the old wooden planks stood close to each other like a band of condemned men staring at the firing squad,trembling,leaning sideways,almost as if they accepted their ill fated fortune. I felt the cold touch of the night that crept through the creeks and knot holes. Even with the blanket mama had hand sewned and mended over and over again,I was cold. The warmth it once had from her sweet tired hands no longer lingered,instead a sense of worry and uncertainty filled it within the threads which night after night I held tight so It wouldn't escape and overcome me. Mama said her brother traveled to California to find a job and hadn't heard from him in two months,Dad was thinking of going. My heart sunk as I couldn't bear the thought of not having the old man work on the small garden in the mornings,not feeling his rough hand move the long hairs out of my face in the early dawn,not having the smell of dirt mixed with oil and sawdust that covered his overalls. I would miss bringing him water while he worked all day on Mr Jone's field on the tractor for a few eggs. Watching him drink half of the water before handing me the rest to drink while in a dry raspy voice assuring me that I had earned it. Putting his sweatty old straw hat on me to protect my face from the scorching sun. It wasn't the cold that kept me up, it was the fear of seeing my old man walking the old dirt road towards the town to never seeing him again. It was the quiet sobbing of my mother every night because maybe she also had the same fear. Maybe it was because she was hungry,tired,desperate as we all were. I noticed Dad getting up and putting his old ripped clothes,old shoes and an old coat he rarely use to wear,except when he had to go to town to trade some vegetables for some seeds or one of the tools he kept in the shed that he never let me go into,for a can of beans. He walked over to my bed and ordered me to get ready. I jumped, put on my clothes, my hat and followed him out the door. It seemed as he walked slowly so I could catch up or as if he wasn't in a hurry to get there. We headed over to the shed. It was the first time he took me in there,my mind wandered of the treasure or the danger he kept me from and my feet hurried in excitement and my heart raced. The old man walked with his eyes focused on the old shed with a sad almost dissapointed face and fatigued steps. He took a key out of the old coat,took a second and unlocked the rusty lock. The chain was also rusty and made a jingling sound as he romoved it. He pushed the plank door and it responded with a creak,I could see the early dawn light pierce the roof of the shed and the dust play inside restlessly around it. We went in. The old man knew his way around the shed while I couldn't make the shape of anything that resided in it. He took a couple of steps,bent down,grabbed the corner of an old sheet and ordered me to help me to uncover something. I reached down in the darkness of the floor and grabbed what I thought was the sheet. We slowly unveiled and I started to see the shapes: round tires,tombstone like grille and a dark cold shell. -It's a Car! I screamed with excitement. The old mans face lit up and a smile escaped under his eyes darked by his hat. He had been trading some of his tools to mr Jones for some gasoline that he stored in a mason jar. And he had been working on it at nights while I slept, under a candle light he worked religiously. -Do you want me to start it boy? He asked me,while he held the jar with both hands. I could only nod. My body was tingling. I had only seen mr Jones drive his car into town and it was the only one I had seen drive around. it was a nice,black,"mudd-ol-ay" my uncle called it. The air filled with a sweet smell when my dad opened the jar and it mixed with its dampness. The shed got clear as the time passed by,even tho it felt like an eternity. -Well,get in boy. I opened the door running my hands through the contours of the metal and the old leather seat. I could see levers,gauges,cables,hoses and random bolts that he salvaged any time he found them. I jumped in while he walked over,moved some levers on the inside and then he walked over the front as he grabbed an iron rod. -you ready? You better get a hold of that steering wheel! He stuck the rod in the front of the car spun it and stood back. Suddenly the car made a violent sound,shook real bad and a cloud of smoke filled the shed. Rattling,rumbling,smoking, the car was running. The old man was standing there triumphant, giant,gallant. as the smoke cleared and the sun rays surrounded him like a million of tiny lightened warriors ready to defend him,he didn't seem tired nor worried. He looked tall and confindent,like an oak tree unmoved by the northern winds. He opened the door as I slid over,he shifted levers, pressed pedals and the iron carriage moved forward. Rambling and shaking, we got unto the dirt road,smoke and dust raised behind us covering us from the sun. He sold it that day. The man who owned the store was going to turn it into a truck,a grocery carrier. My old man bought enough food,seeds ,some farming tools for another winter and mom a dress,she had used hers to patch my clothes. As we walked back home he told me how he built the car from used parts from other farmers before the "recession" and that morning was the first time he ever drove it. I never saw him as an old man again. He was my father.