Third gear

William turned sixteen on the following Wednesday and he highly suspected something grand.  He had been working very hard for the last two years, milking cows and scraping manure.  He had saved up as much money as a fifteen year old reasonable could and now he suspected that his father would pay for half of his car.

Wednesday came and he ran home, and there it was, a red 2000 Ford Mustang.  Rounding the corner of Chestnut and Fourth, he saw the car and let out a whoop, much to the elderly Mrs. Johnson's chagrin.  William bolted through the front door, stepping on the cat and knocking over a dining room chair as he ran to his father's study.  The keys were already in the air toward his approaching excitement and William caught them.

"I only have l one rule, besides the obvious, young man, don't go past third gear."  "Deal", William said, and hugging his father ran back out the front door. 

Dinner time came and went and the family had no word from William.  Mother was getting worried, father was getting upset and William’s sister was already planning on moving into William's room.  The phone rang around 7:30 pm and mother had it off the cradle before the first ring finished, ready to lay out her tirade on responsibility and concern for others, already internally recited one hundred times.  But unfortunately, her scowl transformed into tears, handing the phone to get husband.

The police said it appeared that the car had reached well over 120 mph when it hit the ancient oak tree on the corner of Maple and 47th.  The odd part though was that William was not in the car, in fact, no one was in the car, which was of course, an impossibility.  Cars don't drive themselves.  Search and Rescue was scouring the area but so far had found nothing.  There was no blood, no head strike on the windshield and the seat belt was still buckled.  William was gone.

The gift given by his father was the very thing that moved William into the realm of mystery and fame.  Accomplishing what no one else had.