The Danger of Cars

In 1967 my sixteen year old mother got into a gold Ford pickup and came home without her bra; nine months later my brother Ron was born.

Three years later (now married to the guy who sold his gold pickup) she got into a red Oldsmobile and went on a trip to the coast - hence my sister Maryanne.

Two years later the honeymoon trip was to Mexico. My parents came back with two large sombreros and my other sister Joan under mom's sundress.

I was the last but didn't come along until '78 when Dad inherited some money from a dead aunt and bought a vintage Mustang. I guess you could say that was my first ride in a car.

When I was eight I watched my pimple-faced and full of bravura (and about a quarter bottle of peach schnapps) brother put on his shoes and pull away into the sunset to pick his prom date up in Dad's Mustang.

I got up for six am cartoons and saw my brother meandering up the walk with his shirt un-tucked, his coat slung over his shoulder and a stupid grin on his face. When he bent over to smell Mom's roses (which he detested because Mom made him prune them) I knew I'd have a niece or nephew before next year; and sure enough, the first of my many nephews was born on Christmas Eve just a few short days after his parents got married.

Apparently, 'driving' was the only thing of interest for the young of heart in the rolling prairies of South Dakota.

Maryanne was, as mother was fond of saying, 'the devil's child' and got into an array of cars from pickups, to t-birds and on one particularly horrific moment a van that some guy called Lotus drove. Maryanne was perfect and had blond curly hair and red lips and wore hot pants. One time she took me out to the garage and showed me the backseat of the Mustang.
"See that Sarah? That's what being grown up is all about."

I eyed the tiny cramped space and decided that what I remembered from sex ed and the slice of porno film I'd seen once through Ron's half open door it seemed pretty unlikely anybody could have sex in that small of a space and enjoy it; let alone beget children. However, I had my nephew and now two nieces (the van and the pickup from Maryanne) to disprove my theory.

Joan was 17 when she left in a beat up Datson with a girl named Valerie. She came back with a silly smile plastered on her face and her T-shirt on backwards.
"Well, at least we know she's not pregnant," said Maryanne into the shocked silence of my parent's living room.

Needless to say by the time I turned 18 my parents were biting their nails figuring fate would swoop me into an SUV and I'd come back with triplets.

I, however, was determined to break the cycle - not that I didn't love my fruitful family, but I wanted to graduate and not have to mark the single mother box on my college application. I was in band, choir and drama (a triple-threat geek as Joan so often reminded me) and the closest I'd come to being kissed was by my friend Pat leaving a bag of Hershey kisses in my locker on my birthday; which happened to be today.

It was Friday in September, so that meant I was up to my elbows in popcorn salt and soda working concessions for the band at the football game (we won). By the time every other high school kid tore out of the parking lot, blaring music and racing to see who could do the dumbest thing first, I was stumbling to my beat up pickup (which I loved more than anything) ready for a bath and maybe a movie - but probably just bed.

I was suds-deep in the tub when my mother knocked and came in. "What's with you?" I asked. Her face was a little pinched which meant either Dad farted while asleep in his chair or she was upset. I was kinda hoping for the fart myself.

"There's a young man at the door, wanting to see you."

"Pat?" I said confused.

"No not Pat," she hissed, "I know who Pat is. I'd never worry about Pat. He rides a bike. It's Sue and Allen's boy, Doug."

I sunk into the suds in pure disbelief. What the hell is he doing at my front door? Doug is a tough guy; he races cars, which means he owns a very nice black Chevelle, his pride and joy. At the thought of that primal beast idling in front of my mailbox my knees inched up to cover my nipples, just in case. Almost everyone I went to school with still believes he started shaving in third grade. Doug only goes out with girls like Maryanne.

"Um. did he say what he wanted?" Maybe he was at the wrong house. I was pretty sure a cheerleader lived down the street.

"You," my mother said pointedly. "He wants to go driving. Driving Sarah."

Wonderful; I'm already weird enough and now this dangerously cool guy from school comes over and my mother comes into the bathroom to talk to me for five minutes.

"Well, get out of here and tell him I'll be out in a minute."

"Excuse me?"

"What?"

"Sarah you can't go. Do you know what he's driving?"

I started to push myself up but splashed back down. "Mom, I am not cursed. I'm not Maryanne or Ron or Joan. Besides, I'm kind of flattered and I want to see what he wants."

"I think the leather seats and fuzzy dice make it pretty clear what he wants,"

"He doesn't have fuzzy dice Mom. Now get out of here."

Mom backs out of the door still looking pinched. I dried off the suds and pulled into my jeans, socks then shoes; hooked up the bra and draped a light sweater over myself. I ran a hand through my hair that steam made wavy and succumb to temptation and put on some mascara. Without it, I look like the plaything of some sadistic little girl who likes to peel all the eyelashes off her dolls.

"You should be fine," I assure myself.

I didn't really believe that but since I could now hear another voice other than my fathers that wasn't C-SPAN I hurried out the door.

"Hi Doug," I said brightly, "What's going on?" I stuck my hands in my pockets, entirely unsure of what to do next. He was sitting on the ottoman, elbows on his knees. He had scruffy hair, but his face was shaved; blue jeans, boots, white t-shirt with a Carhartt jacket. When he looks at me I realize for the first time that his eyes are actually grey, not blue like all the dance team raves about.

"Hey," he stood up, not much taller than me. "Want to go out for a bit?"

I had to clear my throat, "Sure. Is it cold out?"

He actually smirked, "I think that sweater could keep you warm in a freezer."

Bastard. I loved this sweater. "Then let's go."

"Nice to meet you," he said to my parents, holding the door open for me. Dad just reached up and patted my arm; I was pretty annoyed he already thought I was a goner.

"Don't stay out too late!" Mom called trying to sound offhand, coming up just short of panicked.

Damn this is a nice car I thought when the engine rolled over. Joan told me that sitting next to the door is being coy, and Maryanne told me it's being a prude and guys hate that. Ron told me never to get in a car. I decided to lean against it but sprawl out, so he wouldn't think I was afraid of him, but he wouldn't think I was going to jump into his lap either.

"Where are we going?"

"Thought we'd head out to the dam."

"I'm not going to kiss you," I said coolly (I'd decided to be upfront between the bathroom and the living room). "Or anything else," I added.

He smiled, "Fair enough."

"Good," I said, pleased. The edge of town passed by and then the road angled up towards the north. It was a dark night with lots of stars, the hills rising up smoothly into the navy smudge along the horizon. The headlights made the road a light grey with the yellow lines bright stripes flashing by.

The 'dam' was a large murky body of water the locals sold to the tourists as a lake. Since South Dakota was pretty short on lakes a lot of tourists believed it, and tried to hide their disappointment in the roar of a jet ski. It was a notorious party and parking spot with places like Tequila beach and Sandman's point.

"You always this quiet?" he asked, slowing down to turn from the pavement onto the gravel. We jolted over the cattle guard and he sped up, which I thought was strange.

"Actually I usually never shut up according to my parents; but I like going on drives. Shouldn't you slow down?"

"Scared?"

"No, but this gravel's going to play hell with your paint job."

He shrugged, "Give me something to do after school."

We turned towards the west and I could hear the grass scraping the underside of his car. We ended up on a small ridge with half the dam spread out ahead of us. He killed the engine and sat back.

"Nice spot," I said tensely.

"I know it's yours," he propped his elbow on the door, "I saw you up here last weekend." He pointed to the east, "That's Tequila Beach over there past the ridge. I was at a party and took a walk; then I saw someone parked up here. I was curious. What were you doing here anyway? Alone I mean."

"I come up here to think, not collect hickies. I like the quiet, and the view. Who leaves a party anyway? Especially a guy like you, I mean."

He looked out over the water, rubbing his hand over his right hand knuckles, "A guy who gets in a fight," he said quietly.

I felt my throat close; it was rough being a smart ass when someone went from funny to serious without warning you first.

"You don't remember me from when we were little, do you?" he asked.

"You mean the one time my sister babysat you? I can't believe you remember that." Actually I couldn't believe I remembered it. The memories were hazy but I was pretty sure I remembered someone pulling my hair and Maryanne teaching me to twist nipples.

"Yeah, I came over for an afternoon while my parents took Jacob to the hospital," he grinned again, "I think I pulled your hair,"

"Kind of a jerk, aren't you?" He laughed and I smiled a little. I couldn't help making jokes when things got tense. I think I felt if I could make someone laugh they'd know it wasn't the end of the world.

"How is Jake?" I asked softly.

Doug shrugged, "He's sick, and he's tired. I mean," he tried to smile; "I know he can't talk, but I know he's really tired. He throws a lot of fits; he does that when he's grumpy. I'm the only one who can lift him anymore. Dad's back is bad and Mom is too small."

This was starting to feel like a confession. He picked at the seam of his jeans, and then laid his head back. "I asked if you remembered that time I was over because my folks were supposed to pick me up in the afternoon, but they didn't get there until dark. I was worried so I planted myself on your front step. Your mom couldn't get me to move, so you came out and said you'd sit with me. We ate cherries and spat the seeds out, seeing who could get the farthest."

"Now I remember," I smiled, "How old were we? Seven?"

"Five actually, and I had diarrhea and sore nipples thanks to you."

While we shared a laugh I realized I'd forgotten all about that memory. Going to school changed a lot of things, like people actually talking to him in the hallways versus asking me what happened in English yesterday.

'How come you don't have a boyfriend?'� he asked suddenly.

I was startled, but it was a question I was pretty familiar with. I shrugged, 'Haven't found anyone I want to date.'�

He cocked an eyebrow, 'You're not another lesbo like your sister?'�

I thought of Joan, who lived as a starving artist at her university in an all girl dorm. The last card I sent her had something to do with a sheep in wolves clothing. I smiled, 'Joan was an anomaly. But no, I am not a lesbian.'�

'Hmm, you're not ugly you know,'� He said matter-of-factly. I felt my cheeks getting dangerously warm so I changed the subject.

'So, why were your parents so late picking you up that night?'�

'Jake's tests were bad.'� He didn't say anything else and the silence threatened to keep stretching out so I tried again.

'What does Jake have?'� I asked.

Doug sighed, 'Microcephaly, muscular degeneration, retardation and major brain defects. Basically, my brother will never walk, talk, read or be able to sit up on his own. He's a goddamned 16-year-old infant.'�

'So why'd you get in a fight?'� I asked softly. The wind had picked up outside and I could hear the long grass slapping against the side of the car. It was deeply quiet inside the car. He leaned forward, resting his wrists on the wheel; the movement made his back look like he was bracing himself against an invisible wall.

'Last weekend Mom was giving Jake a bath. She's too small to lift him and he's too awkward so she asked me to help her get him out. I went in to pull him out of the water.'� He paused, 'Look, Jake's been sick, some stomach thing and he's been puking a little and having diarrhea.'� He looked hard at me. 'He can't control it.'� I nodded, he waited a beat then went on.

'Well, when I pulled him out of the water he, he shit all over me. It was all over my stomach and my leg. He didn't feel too good about it either; so he starts shrieking and Mom gets all flustered trying to keep him quiet and clean me up. Then Dad comes in and he's grossed out and starts yelling about how we can't have him anymore and Mom starts yelling back and I guess I lost it. I told my parents to shut the hell up, went to my room, jerked off my clothes, put new ones on and went to get drunk.'�

I felt a pang of sympathy; I had a pretty good idea of where this was going. 'Who told you you smelled like shit?'� I asked.

'Brad,'� he said flatly. 'He asked if my retard brother needed bigger diapers and I snapped. Some buddies dragged me off him and I stormed off down the beach.'� He turned to me, the shadows covering half his face. 'Till I saw you.'�

'I don't know why it set me off so much. I've heard retard plenty of times, used it myself. I'm leaving next year for school and I don't' know what my parents are going to do, and I feel guilty as hell because I'll be relieved to be out of that house, and away from him. I don't have the strength to keep wishing it will get better, or there'll be more for him. I can't keep giving my mom the hope that she'll be able to keep Jake with her forever, and I can't keep trying to explain to my dad why Jake's not just a lump laying on the carpet.'�

Doug closed his eyes, 'My brother is sixteen years old and his favorite thing in the world is a bright red Nerf ball.'�

I felt small sitting next to him, squashed against the door by his frustration and hurt. I wanted to help, I wanted to touch him and tell him it would be fine, that it would work out; but I wasn't his girlfriend, and I wasn't even a girl he took out. Since I couldn't bring myself to touch him, and I had no idea what to say, I opted for opening the door and getting out.

'Where are you going?'� he asked, his head coming up. I couldn't see anything of his face, but I could see his bruised knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

'Come outside with me,'� I said, speaking through open door. I closed the door and walked to the front of the car, crossing my arms. His head popped out of the window.

'What for?'�

'Just get out here,'� I waved at him. 'We're going to sit on your hood.'�

'Like hell we are.'�

I smiled a little, 'Fine, we'll lean then. Just trust me and get out here.'�

I heard him muttering something but he finally got out and came up next to me.

'Just, lean back and get comfortable. Just try to feel without thinking.'�

I held my breath waiting for him to decide. Either he'd sit down next to me or drive away to Tequila beach and tell everyone the newest way to humiliate band dorks.

Finally he settled in next to me, our elbows touching a little which I chalked up to the car being kind of short on hood space. He took a deep breath, I let one out, and we didn't speak for a long time.

'Doug,'� I said turning to him after a while, 'I don't know your brother and I don't have any cherries to offer. But I'm positive that there's one thing Jake loves more than that ball.'�

He looked at me for a long time, and I was pretty proud that I didn't jump him or look away. Mostly I just looked back, letting what I said ride on its own. Finally he stood up and started fiddling with his keys. 'We should go, it's getting late.'�

I couldn't tell if I was disappointed or relieved, but I nodded and climbed in the car again. The ride home was quiet; outside my house he let the engine idle.

'Thanks,'� he said. 'Knew I could count on you to help,'�

'No problem,'� I reached for the handle. 'Anytime.'�

'Wait,'� he grabbed my shoulder. Startled, I turned back to find him a lot closer to me than before. 'I want to return the favor.'�

'Really, it's not a big deal, I'�'�

'Sarah,'� his voice was low and very, very sexy, 'I think I might be able to help out with all those lesbian rumors,'�

'I, I,'� I was stammering and my cheeks were in full blaze as his hand curled up my shoulder and rested at the base of my skull. He pulled me forward and I had just enough time to realize his eyes had a little blue after all when he kissed me.

It wasn't the tongue-thrusting, bra-snapping savagery that my whole family had convinced me always, without fail occurred when a guy kissed a girl in a car. It was warm, and very soft; he smelled like motor oil and soap and cold wind. I couldn't help it; I tilted my head and kissed him back, rubbing his nose with mine just before he pulled back.

'Happy Birthday,'� he whispered.

My smile wobbled a little bit and I realized that the true danger of cars is that they make you feel safe. Like you're held in big steal hands that want to keep you warm and comfortable, but the hands can't keep out time, heartbeats, pain, or secrets. Before you know it you've fallen without moving, and you can't go back where you were.

'Thanks,'� I said, pulling the latch slowly until the pop echoed against my back. I closed the door and walked away, not turning back until I could no longer hear the hum from his engine.

I could blame my cheeks on the wind, and I scrubbed my mouth hard enough to wipe away the tell-tale grin.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...