Storytelling for Week 2: Flick's Joyride

"You're adopted." 

Those were the first words that Flick heard out of his mother's mouth after she had sat him down in the living room. It's hard to predict how someone will react to such a statement; adoption brings to mind questions of ownership and origin. Flick, however, was nineteen, and the words didn't seem to phase him. 

"I want to meet him."

"It's complicated."

"I don't care, Clementine."

She hated when he called her by first name. It was a pet peeve of hers that Flick had learned to utilize for his benefit. 

"Fine. We'll do it next week, then. Just don't call me Clementine." 

~~~

Next Wednesday morning, they left for the city. As Clementine drove, she could not keep her thoughts from wandering. She thought of Flick's adoptive father, her late husband, and how his presence might have helped mitigate the guilt she felt as a single parent of a young man. The deceased's birthday was next month, and Clementine and Flick always went to the cemetery to leave a bouquet of sunflowers. It was one of the few things they consistently did together. 

They parked in front of an opulent skyscraper and disembarked upon the immaculate, nearly reflective, sidewalk. As they walked toward the entrance, the doorman prepared to block their way, but upon seeing Clementine's face, his confidence seemed to retreat and force him to make way for the mom and her sun. The duo arrived at the front desk at 8:56 a.m. on the dot. 

"He's here to see Paul." 

The receptionist flashed a look of understanding and motioned to the security guard to take Flick to the express elevator. Flick's guide leaned in and pressed the button for the top floor.

"You might want to brace yourself. It's a pretty quick ride for newcomers." 

Flick soared through the floors as the lift accelerated toward the sky, and he wondered if he'd end up amongst the clouds when the doors opened. 

Ding. The ride was over sooner than Flick had expected. 

The elevator opened up to blinding light. Tall, crystal-clear windows let in so much sun that Flick swore everything was covered in a film of twenty-four caret gold. A man in an impressive purple suit sat behind a desk at the end of the room, and the sun seemed to be rising over his left shoulder--a purple hillside. He stood up and looked down at the ornate clock on his desk. 

As if the clock timed its motions to that man, the second hand slammed straight up seemingly in response to the man's gaze. 

It was 10 o'clock. 

"So, you're my biological father?"

"As certain as the sun rises every morning," the man answered. "I'm Paul, but you can call me Dad if you want. I supposed I owe you something after all this time." 

"Well, that's not necessarily important." 

"Nonsense. Follow me." 

A stomach turning trip in the elevator down to the building's basement brought them to Paul's private garage. Flick could not believe what he saw. 

Here, the author of this story must admit that any words he chooses to use would not do justice to describe the splendor of the vehicle. The four-wheeled machine looked like it ran on pride and gave off glory as its exhaust. Flick tried to guess the engine's horsepower, but only exorbitant numbers came to mind. 40,000? 400,000? He was convinced this was something of myth. 

"You said you owe me something, right? How about letting me take that for a ride?"

The color drained from Paul's face.

"I would love to, but it's much more difficult to handle than you imagine."

"Come on, Paul. I'm your son."

The man in the purple suit seemed to share the same pet peeve with Clementine. 

"Here are the keys. The valet will show you how to exit the building. You have until noon. Be careful; the stick shift has a mind of its own at times."

Needless to say, Flick's ride didn't last long. Twenty minutes later, a cop stuck him down with a ticket with lightning-speed efficiency. Paul, paralyzingly embarrassed by his foolishness, locked himself up in his office for the day. 

Perhaps children don't always live up to their parents, he thought.

An exaggerated version of Flick's joyride in the city. Wikipedia Commons.

Author's Note: I decided to add a spin to Ovid's story of Phaethon and the Sun. The first time I read through the story, it evoked the consequences of the scene in Ferris Bueller's Day Off in which the parking attendants take Cameron's dad's Ferrari out for a ride while Ferris and his friends spend the day in Chicago. Therefore, I placed Flick as my representation of Phaethon as a character who lacks a strong relationship with his father. For the sake of originality and the rapport I wanted to create between Flick and his biological father, I made Clementine Flick's adoptive mother rather than his biological one. The rest of my story follows the hubris of Phaethon by creating an analogy of between Apollo's chariot and the car that Flick takes out.

Bibliography
Ovid's Metamorphoses 
Edited by Thomas Kline
2000