In a dream

I was at a show for work trucks. I had a black 1952 Chevrolet half ton pickup. The pickup bore work marks – scratches, dents. Nothing major. There was some surface rust in the bed, where loads had scraped the paint, but those indicated the truck had worked during its lifetime.

A friend showed a 1955 Chevrolet. His truck was green. 1955 was a style change year for Chevrolet, both in pickups and in sedans. You can see some of the same lines in 1956, 1957 and 1958 cars and trucks. (Often in dreams I do not know the names of participants, so we will call my friend John.) John’s pickup was not as scratched as was mine. Maybe his truck had not been worked as much, maybe John was more careful in where he took his truck.

A woman named Mary had a 1952 Chevrolet flatbed. Work marks showed it was a good truck. In addition to scratches and dents on the body, the flatbed had scrapes and gouges on the wooden bed. The truck had carried thousands of bales of hay and tons of bagged cattle feed during its work years.

Mary owned a ranch. She was appreciative of John’s pickup and of mine. Of her flatbed, she said, “It’s a lot like my ex-husbands. You drive it enough, it wears out.” She laughed and added, “’Course, the truck’s still with me.”

John said, “Truck wears out, you can replace parts.”

“You got that right,” Mary said. She looked John up and down. “How far along are you?”

“Far enough,” John said.

“You looking to sell your truck?”

John nodded. “I am.”

“How much are you asking?”

John sipped his coffee. “Twenty-six.”

“Oh!” Mary said, and she turned as though she had been bitten. “That’s way too much.” John shrugged. Mary said, “I’ve looked it over. It’s in good shape.” John nodded. Mary sighed and said, “Twenty-two.”

John stuck out his hand. “Sold,” he said.

Mary shook his hand. “You take a check?”

John chuckled. “Lady, you carrying twenty-two in cash around this place, you got more nerve than I do.”