She had been under the covers for as long as I can remember. “Don’t ever take off the cover,” my dad would say to me, “When I think you’re ready, you can see her.” Now most of you are wondering who is this “she” that has been covered by covers for so long. Rest assure its not a human being but rather my fathers first car at 22 years old. When I turned 18 the cover finally came off. She was a metallic black Grand National with carbon black rims. My father had been maintaining her himself since 1989 in an almost brand new condition, updating the dashboard and necessary tune ups. It felt meant to be when I sat behind the wheel. The steering wheel was a bit stiff and the leg space was a bit cramped but it would do. The engine roared as I turned it on, longing to finally hit the road after so long. A nice cruise was long overdue for this beauty. We hit the I-495 trying to see what we were made of. At one moment there was a clear path to an open road and she seemed to lure my foot further and further down the pedal until it hit 95 mph. I started easing off, not wanting to push my luck, and gently hit the brakes until I reached 40mph. It wasn’t until then that I noticed my body shaking. I smiled and laughed out loud for a good 2 minutes. I waited 18 years for this burst of adrenaline and it was worth it.