The Ghost of Grove Hill

I am now living back in my "old neighborhood". The area where I attended school, got my first car, first girlfriend, lifelong lessons, etc. Some things have changed, like some houses being remodeled, but some things, like the schools, churches, businesses, roads, are the same as I remember them, which gives a kind of "time tunnel" experience to daily life.
 The night life seems to have not changed much either, with the quietness of the neighborhood occasionally broken by the sound of a high-power car (or two) in the distance, either down on the main drag or on some other more open road.
 I was a member of one of the two small car clubs that I knew about in highschool. We weren't serious street-racers, but our cruises sometimes ended up on Grove Hill Road. It was the obvious place to have a just-for-fun, side-by-side contest. Long, smooth, straight, and seldom traveled, especially late at night. On the left was Grove Hill Cemetery, and on the right was an unfenced, open field,  which at times was covered with a crop of cotton. Now there is block after block of houses.
 Arriving at school one Monday morning, instead of lively activity outside and in the halls, people were gathered in small, hushed groups.
 It was only a minute before I was asked "Did you hear about Greg?" My reaction was speechless shock. Greg was my best friend. No one knew all the details. If he was racing, if he was alone. All they knew was that his car skidded out of control, off Grove Hill Road and crashed into a tree.
 A few nights after moving back to the area, I thought I would revisit the old "dragstrip". The road is not as smooth as it was, so I was driving slowly, remembering all the good times. Suddenly, the full moon broke from behind some heavy, gray clouds. I looked to my right to see a field of cotton illuminated in the moonlight. Instead of new streetlights, only my headlights lit the road, and I gasped, wide-eyed as I saw tire tracks swerving off the left side of the road. I could smell the unmistakable, pungent odor of burning rubber, and in the moonlight I saw the smashed remains of a car that belonged to a member of another club.
 By the time I got to the end of the road, it had changed back to the present time, but I had to turn around and go back. I was relieved to see that the houses were once again in place. However, as I glanced toward the cemetery, I could make out the shape of the gleaming, pristine car that a few moments before appeared to be a crumpled wreck. Propped against the front fender was Greg, and he gave me an "everything's cool" wave as I passed.

I didn't know that Greg had bought the car from a member of the other club. I thought it was a "rival".
I was the one that met him on Grove Hill Road that night. What would have been a friendly race to him, was a club against club, all-out, race to the end to me.


Only the locations and then and now car culture is true.
I hope you enjoyed it.

I loved how much detail and description you wrote into that. It allowed me to picture the scene as if I was actually there. It was very interesting too! I loved it! Awesome job!

Thank you. You inspired me.