The Jeep

The Jeep is a great, green monster. In the evening, I wait and listen; when I hear its great roar I know it is coming. I know my Dad is home. It’s an enormous army green jeep, up high in the sky,  lifted up because of its huge, bulky wheels. My mother calls it a monster truck, but I don’t think the wheels are quite big enough. I know she is just kidding. A monster of a jeep, army green with rust in places; it is built to plow and skid through snow. Every winter my Dad is excited to drive it through rough weather. He proud of its ability to push through snow with ease. A green hulk plowing through. Roaring, roaring, silent.

It’s a miracle the neighbors don’t complain. In our old neighborhood the neighbors would try to politely mention the annoyance of the roar at 5 a.m. A great noise coming from my dad’s car as he zoomed off to work in the early hours of the morning. One of the reasons I got a sound machine. A rumbling roar, coming from the hull of the great jeep monster. The monster would become silent as soon as it was out of range, and the morning air would quiet. And then the noise would return at 7p.m, or 8 p.m., or sometimes 9 or 10 p.m., whenever my dad returned home. However, here the neighbors do not complain or even comment about the racket. Maybe it’s because here, the neighbors either have cars of their own, or do not care. Even so, it is still hard to miss an enormous green jeep. 

My mom’s car is very different from my dad’s. Her car is a 2002 Mercedes, which was purchased before my sister was even born. If you compared the two you would see a noticeable difference in size, although they fit the same number of people. The silent rumble of the tan Mercedes is like a whisper into the wind compared to the roar of the green monster. The Mercedes is parked expertly at the top of our circular drive, similar to a sparrow perched on a branch. Instead, the great green jeep occasionally sits a wheel or two in the muddy grass next to the driveway. Then it roars, out of the mud and onto the open road, nearly taking out the mailbox. But nevertheless, speeding off onto the cold pavement. Roaring at dawn, roaring at sunset.

~ Ellen O.