1. The Rambler part 4


    Date: 4/18/2017, Categories: Taboo, Author: rgough, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster

    That was less than a mouthful, that's for sure. It was little more than a week after we had pawed through the pictures that the bomb arrived in the mail in the form of a bill, forwarded from my mother's last address, for the next year's storage fee. The bill didn't state what was being stored, just the square footage and a rate per square foot for heated indoor storage space, and a total payable within 30 days or the contents would be seized and disposed for services rendered. I called, but the attendant didn't know what was in the storage room. The room was was secured by the owner's lock which he couldn't open unless I had proof that the owner was indeed deceased and that I was the rightful owner according to the will. If I presented a notarized document to that effect, he would open the locker and allow me to remove the contents after paying a fee or continue to store it in a new contract in my name. The next week, I drove up to the storage facility armed with the appropriate legal documents and a lot of curiosity. I wondered what could Mom have been storing so long - the attendant said the storage contract was the oldest one they had on file, almost 20 years he said. Why did she need to store things outside her home, in the next town no less? With a profound sense of mystery, I eagerly peered under the rising metal door as the attendant lifted it with two hands and pushed it toward the roof where it rolled along the ceiling and bounced back and forth, handrope dangling ...
    wildly as the door bounced off the stop springs. "A car!" the attendant exclaimed. It was indeed a car ... under a fitted canvas cover. The attendant stood back to let me by. I walked in, squeezing alongside the car to the far corner. There was nothing else in the room. I bent to lift the cover and the attendant rushed to help, thinking I wanted to remove the cover though I only meant to take a peek. "I wonder how old it is?" the attendant said, lifting the canvas at the other end. Together, we exposed the side and I followed as the attendant dragged the canvas over the roof toward the other side of the car. A lump had developed in my throat as soon as the red and black two-tone paint was revealed in the dim light. "Wow, what kind of car is that?" the k** said. "Some kind of early Lincoln?" "No," I replied, having difficulty speaking. "It's a 1959 Rambler American Contintental," I informed him, an old yet still familiar defensive tone creeping into my voice. "A what?" the k** said. "A Rambler," I muttered, dropping the canvas to the floor and walking over it to the driver's door. I opened the car. It smelled very musty. I squeezed inside and sat behind the wheel, ignoring the attendant who was saying something. Dust rose up as my weight hit the seat and I looked around the car, then opened the glove box which was empty except for a sheaf of old and dry papers. Insurance papers for the last year the car was driven, 1975, some twenty-four years ago, about a year after Laura and I ...
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