The Red Convertible

Content Warning: This sections contains references to war-related trauma and systemic racism and violence against Indigenous Americans.

“We owned it together until his boots filled with water on a windy night and he bought out my share. Now Henry owns the whole car, and his younger brother Lyman (that’s myself), Lyman walks everywhere he goes.”

The first paragraph establishes several pieces of key information: the first-person narrator is named Lyman; his relationship with Henry is the emotional core of the story; and Henry will eventually gain sole ownership of the car, leaving Lyman without a vehicle. The strange detail of the water-filled boots carries the implicit promise that the reader who finishes the story will eventually understand its importance. It is a subtle form of foreshadowing, as there is initially no reason to think the narrator is speaking metaphorically when he describes his brother as “buying out” his share of the car.

“There it was, parked, large as life. Really as if it was alive. I thought of the word repose, because the car wasn’t simply stopped, parked, or whatever. That car reposed, calm and gleaming, a FOR SALE sign in its left front window.”

Lyman’s diction captures his instant infatuation with the convertible. He sees it as a living being with a serene mood and a dignified disposition. He punctuates this feeling by repeating the word “repose,” emphasizing it further with italics.

“When the dust rises up and hangs in the air around the dancers like that, I feel good.”

Lyman and Henry are never as comfortable or tranquil as they are driving through the country and enjoying nature. The shade from the trees and the gentle breeze both contribute to and reflect their inner peace in this moment. Lyman can see a powwow in the distance, but the event doesn’t disturb the quiet.