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Photo by Jason Hogan on Unsplash

A hard day’s work on the retail floor had exhausted Deanna. It felt so good to slide behind the wheel of her old Toyota. “Come on, Lucille. Take me home.”

Lucille was old enough to legally drink by herself, if she were human. The original glossy, red paint had weathered to a flat, dull pink, and had a few dings and rust spots that added character. Deanna had never bothered to remove the peace symbol the former owner painted on the trunk lid, because it seemed to fit both their personalities.

Two stoplights away from the store parking lot she noticed a blue car with a grill full of led lights configured to look like shark teeth. It seemed to stalking her. Fear gripped her throat. Her ex had a car with programmable grill lights. It was difficult to see the driver in the dim twilight. What was it he said to her on that last phone message? ‘If I can’t have you, ain’t nobody gonna have you!’

Deanna goosed the gas pedal a little more and turned on to a busy highway. “Don’t let me down, girl. We gotta lose him.” She patted the dashboard as she glanced in the rear view mirror again. It was still back there.

She pushed the pedal closer to the floorboard. Lucille’s engine grumbled a complaint, but complied with the new demand. Steering in and out of the rush-hour traffic, Deanna hoped to lose the blue car.

A quick check of the mirror – still there. She pushed the pedal firmly into the floor. Lucille gave it her all – fifteen miles over the speed limit. The blue car still kept pace.

Outrunning them wasn’t possible, but maybe she could outsmart the driver. At full speed she steered on to the shoulder before slamming the brakes and slapping on the flashers. Whoosh! The blue car zoomed by.

At the next median break, it slowed and turned back the other direction. “He’s coming back for us, Lucille. Let’s get out of here!” Deanna punched the gas and rode the shoulder at full speed until traffic allowed her back onto the freeway.

She periodically glanced into the rear view mirror. After not seeing him for a few miles, she convinced herself that the ruse worked. Her racing heart returned to a more normal rhythm. “I knew you could do it, Lucille,” she said, patting the dashboard.

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

I chewed on my lower lip as I watched my oldest sister, Jackie, heave the last of her moving boxes off the floor. She was leaving today for some place far away and not coming back. Sure, she said she’d visit, but Mom said it would take a whole day just to drive from her new place to here. She won’t be back. I want her to take me, too.

“Aren’t you going to help?” asked Jackie.

“I’m too little. Your stuff is too heavy,” I said. I’m only five, the oops baby they didn’t expect. Before me the family was perfect – Mom and Dad had two boys and two girls.

“I mean with the door.” Jackie’s tone had a sarcastic edge.

“Oh.” I released the balled up edge of my summer nightgown, scooted backwards into the door, and slowly pressed my butt against it until it opened. I had learned the door didn’t creak so badly if you opened it slowly. The cool morning air prickled my naked arms and legs; the sidewalk damp and gritty against my bare feet. Jackie wedged that last box into the only empty spot left in the trunk of her old Dodge sedan before slamming the lid.

“Cheer up. Before you can miss me, I’ll be back,” she said. A button fell off her shirt, making a tapping sound as it hit the sidewalk. She didn’t notice and instead ruffled my sleep tangled hair as she passed by me. Easy for her to say. She sounded happy about leaving me for college. Jackie will get to do whatever she wants. I rescued the little white button from the sidewalk as I followed her back into the house.

She hugged Mom and Dad. Then she hugged our twelve year old brother; he reluctantly allowed it. Our other brother and sister had said goodbye last night because they had to work this morning. She turned to me, but before she could hug me, I ran to my room and slammed the door.

With tears stinging my eyes, I slid down the door as I continued to clutch my souvenir. I pulled the edge of my nightgown up over my face and cried. Maybe if she can’t say goodbye to me she won’t leave.

The door muffled the conversation on the other side, but I could make out a few of Mom’s words, “she’ll . . . okay . . . forgive”. Then the backdoor creaked open and closed with a thump. A moment later, the old Dodge cranked. I ran to the window in time to see its back end disappear around the corner and out of sight.

She left me anyway.