The night the red Toyota escaped

It all happened when I was very little, not older than seven for sure. It was late at night when I was awoken from the cracking sound of a starting-up car engine. I got out of bed still holding Shiny, my pink teddy bear with fluffy wings, and I stare out my bedroom’s window, and then I saw my family’s red Toyota driving away faster than ever. As it turned around the corner, the wheels squeaked against the pavement. So many years later, I can still hear that sound. I remember my dad always complained when mom was driving and she made the wheels squeak, “Destroy the brakes that way, you will!” After a minute, the raging sound faded away and I realized the car was gone and didn’t seem to be coming back.

 I didn’t understand. From my half-opened bedroom door, I could see there was not a single light in the house, besides the soft glow that came from my baby sister's nursery. My parents must be asleep by now. Usually, I would wake up to pee and find them still awake, sitting on opposite sides on the sofa, sometimes watching the midnight news and other times drinking wine. The TV was off and the sofa was empty. So that night, the night of the Toyota, it was really, really late. Why would mommy or daddy take the car? And where would they go? It was way too early to go to work, and Mrs. Henderson, the next-door neighbor who sometimes took care of me and my little sister hadn’t arrived. At least, she always rang the bell, and I haven’t heard the bell ringing.

“Should I wake up mum and dad and tell them the car is gone?” I wondered. I knew that they usually didn’t mind if I called them because I was having a bad dream, or because there was no more water left in the glass next to my bed and I felt thirsty. But this time, I wasn’t thirsty, and I was pretty sure this wasn’t a dream. Or was it? I pinched my hand carefully and it felt real. I looked out the window again: undoubtedly, the front parking spot was empty and the red car was gone. The trees waved like black hands saying hello to the night sky. All I could hear outside were a few crickets. The streetlight in the corner was dim. Far away, a dog barked, and a few seconds later, another bark responded. My mind wandered on how dogs could communicate in their own language and what could they possibly talk about. I remembered how Spot, the Hendersons' dog, would sometimes chase our car. Dad always cursed and mom complained, “Don’t you say those kinds of things in front of the kids”. “Would you rather have me run over the frocking dog?”, “Mum, Dad, what does “frocking” mean?”, I asked once. My mum punched my dad on his shoulder, “You see?” I wondered if the dogs in the neighborhood were watching our red car go by, and they were feeling frustrated because being locked inside as every night, they couldn’t chase it as usual. I smiled imagining all the different dogs in every possible shape, color, and size, warning each other with their language of barks, “Hey, you guys, I couldn’t make it! Make sure you bite those squeaky wheels for me this time!”

I turned around and I looked at my bedroom door: it was half-opened as usual. I peeked outside, and I could see the door of my baby sister’s bedroom in front of mine also half-opened. I tiptoed to cross the hall and slowly entered her room. I had to be extra careful, as some baby toys were lying everywhere on the carpet, and one thing my parents wouldn’t allow was for me to wake up the baby. Luckily, she had her nightlight on, which created a cozy, light-blue shade on the walls. I took a peek into her cradle and found her sound asleep. The pacifier had fallen from her lips, and her curly head was turned towards the wall. The car engine hadn’t awakened her. Perhaps she hadn’t heard it; after all, unlike mine, the window of the nursery looked into the backyard. Trying not to make a sound, I went out of my sister’s bedroom.

My parent’s bedroom door was, as usual, closed. But they never left us by ourselves, let alone at nighttime! “Can a car possibly go out on its own?” I wondered. I started to imagine that this scene I had witnessed happened every night: perhaps it was the time when cars went for a ride and were brought together in friendship, running races on empty streets without worrying about running over people or dogs. “Do cars have fun?” If they did, they were entitled to do so! Our car was busy all day, taking the four of us back and forth, to school, to mum’s office, to the supermarket, to dad’s hospital, to the family doctor, to visit our grandparents, and sometimes, in the weekends, to the beach nearby for a family picnic… “What if the Toyota got tired of us? What if it doesn’t come back?”

And then it hit me: I was being a silly, silly girl! Of course, cars can’t go on their own! It must have been a thief that took it! I imagined him dressed like the cartoons have shown me, all in black and white stripes, holding a bag with a money sign, and hiding his face behind a mask. I realized I had to tell mom and dad. This was an emergency, we should call the police and they could chase the thief and bring us our car back!

“Mom, dad!” I whispered, knocking softly on their door, “You need to wake up, someone stole our car!” I didn’t want to raise my voice because I could wake the baby, and there was no need to scare her with stories of thefts and car chases. Besides, soon I noticed they had turned on a light, and I heard some footsteps inside my parent’s bedroom. They had heard me. They were coming. They would not be mad at me for waking them up. Quite the contrary, they would thank me for warning them and call the police to recover our car on the run.

It was dad who opened the door. His eyes were red and his cheeks were wet. I have never seen him cry before. “Oh, daddy, daddy! Don’t be sad! I’m sure the police will find that mean old thief and bring us our car back!” I said, taking him by the hand. “Shhh, my dear, you should be asleep. It’s 3 A.M, let me walk you to bed” he said with a strange smile. He picked me up, took me and my teddy bear, which I was still holding tight, and put both of us back to bed. As he tucked me in, I asked, “Is mom still asleep? Will you call the police?”, “Shhh, don’t you worry now about that. Go back to sleep”. I yawned. I was feeling tired, and the excitement of the escaping red Toyota was slowly abandoning me. “Everything will be alright tomorrow”, he promised. "Will you find the missing car?", I yawned. "It will turn up", he said. I closed my eyes and felt his caring presence. He remained by my side, his big, warm hand pressing softy on my belly, and I fell back asleep.

When I woke up the following morning, I jumped out of bed and looked through the window: there it was! The red Toyota was back, parked in its regular spot! I ran into the kitchen. Both of my parents had red eyes. Mom was sitting at the table, with a huge, opened suitcase at her feet, and I heard her mumble how sorry she was. Dad was holding my baby sister with one arm while preparing coffee with his free hand. “Hey, mom, dad, guess what? The car is back! So cheer up!”

I never fully knew what really happened that night because my parents somehow managed to make things work. Or at least, they have been pretending to do so ever since.

But as the years went by I could never forget that weirdest night, the night the red Toyota escaped.