My world has been changing, developing, blossoming.  Some changes are welcome and symbolize the start of a whole new chapter in my life.  Then there are some changes that have made me sad.  Many of the friends I used to know have left to go to colleges rather far away.  Some folks I used to know have passed on.  People change, and sometimes you don’t like the person that they become.

            Through all this, there has been at least one constant in my life.  There has always been that rusty, old 1988 Ford Bronco sitting outside.  I can’t remember a time in my life without that Bronco.  To me, it is much more than an automobile.  It is one little thing (well, perhaps “little” is a strange choice of words) that I can cling to when it feels like I will be swept away by the winds of change.

            The other night, I was driving home, alone.  I had been talking to a friend, and she is changing.  I’m not sure if I like the person that she is becoming.  I was thinking about her, hoping we could stay friends as we continue to grow and mature and transform.  This lead to thoughts of how I was becoming an adult now, no longer a child.  I wondered if I could rely on myself; depend on myself to support myself.  Do I have it in me to graduate from college?  Do I have the ability to become someone great?

            I usually have the radio on when I drive around, but this time I did not.  I drove on in quiet reflection of what has been happening in my life lately.

            This old truck sure makes a lot of noise, I thought as I listened to the clanging, the clanking, the banging, and the rattling of the Bronco.  Bumps in the road caused abrasive sounds.  A sound similar to the percolating of a coffee machine came from the engine whenever it switched gears.

            But strangely enough, the noises emanating from the engine and underneath were comforting.  Here was something I was used to.  Here was something I knew.  It was like an old friend, a friend that knew exactly who you were and what you’d done – and liked you anyway.

            The latest noise that the truck had begun to make was caused by the transmission.  The problem had mainly been attributed to the age of the vehicle.  I found that as I drove on, the rhythmic clanking seemed to be forming some mechanical lullaby of sorts.

            It’s-o-kay-It’s-o-kay-It’s-o-kay-It’s-o-kay.  You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right.

            I was calmed by the peculiar un-human chant.  As I worked my way through a list of infinite “what-ifs”, it continued to repeat its assuring song.

            What if something bad should happen in my life soon?  It’s-o-kay-It’s-o-kay-It’s-o-kay-It’s-okay.

            What if I fail my classes?  You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right.

            What if I get a job and I’m really bad and I get fired?  It’s-o-kay-It’s-o-kay-It’s-o-kay-It’s-o-kay.

            What if I just totally mess up my life?  You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right.

            I kept driving into the night.  The Bronco carried on, talking in its own way.

            It’s-o-kay-It’s-o-kay-It’s-o-kay-It’s-o-kay.  You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right-You’re-al-right.

            We’ll-get-through-We’ll-get-through-We’ll-get-through-We’ll-get-through.