Write-On Prompt: Just One Ride

 Note: It was prompt night last night at Write On, and we had five options to pick from. Because I never do anything easy, I tried to tackle three. Two of them dealt with conveying emotions through body language and dialogue. Not sure I hit the mark with that, but hoped the slumping and banter conveyed a desire on both sides of the conversation. The third was to write a story with an open ending. That I did. Let me know what you think Mary did after Roger opened the passenger door.

 Up and down Locust Avenue, the street lights blinked to life as the sun fell behind the line of trees to the west. It wasn’t dark enough for the orange glow from the bulbs to be noticeable to anyone other than Roger, and he only noticed because he was slumped against his rusty ’78 Camaro and had nothing better to do than watch lights turn on. The Camaro’s original color had been apple red, until someone, probably in the 1990s had decided to make it silver. Except they clearly hadn’t known how to paint a car, as the silver now was flaking off, revealing the red, and in spots, rusty flesh below. Roger wanted to sand off the silver completely, restore the original sheen, and revel in all its muscle car glory. He wanted to turn the stereo on loud, have the speakers shake in their casings, and listen to Ozzy, or ACDC, or maybe even Motely Crue. He wanted a great many things, instead he was slumped against the passenger’s side door waiting. Always waiting for time to do things like that. For money to upgrade the engine. Most of all, he waited for Mary Scott to come down those porch steps.

His dark bangs fell before his even darker eyes, and he didn’t bother to brush them away. His shirt was cutoff at the shoulder on purpose, the three tears in other places weren’t. His skin was tanned to his rotator cuff, but a creamy white for the rest of his torso, and blotches of grease spotted all of him. Some still wet, other so dried to his skin and clothing that the only way they’d ever be removed was with fire.

“You can stand there all night,” Mary called from the porch, her pale summer dress dancing in an invisible breeze. A radio played somewhere, maybe even a block over. The song was an oldie, one where the guy could smoothly hit the high notes and make you believe in things like love and peace and happy-ever-afters.

“Maybe I will.” Roger shrugged, reached into the car and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and his Zippo.

“My dad will come out and slug you if he hears you been smoking in front of his house.” Mary had her blonde hair tied back with a golden bow. He liked it better when she let her locks spill to her shoulders.

“Then, you just go in and tell him that Roger Hirsh is going to smoke a whole pack of reds at his curb unless his daughter comes down here and gets in the front seat of this mighty fine automobile.”

“It’s an old beater,” She glanced at the screen door behind her. He wondered if she’d ever get the courage to either rat him out to her pa or come scrambling down to him to see what it meant to really let her hair loose.

“It’s a classic.” He lit the cigarette, nodded his head back and let gravity move his bangs from in front of his eyes to their proper place atop his head.

Mary crossed her arms and planted her feet. Since meeting three weeks earlier, they had done this dance almost nightly. He rumbled down her block fifteen minutes after getting off at the garage, parked in front of the house, and waited for her to accept his invitation for a quick ride, just a couple swings around the block was all he was asking, and each night she refused, remaining in purgatory on the porch until Roger’s stomach growled so much that he had to retreat to the nearest fast-food joint.

“Your nothing but a grease monkey,” Mary stuck her tongue out. “I’m going to college in a month.”

He grinned. College girls, always hiding behind their books and their intentions. Just wait ten years doll, when your tire pops on that station wagon, and your preppy frat boy has to call a service to get it fixed, he thought. Roger would have it off and fixed in two shakes while you and frat boy will be sitting beside the road for three hours. Well, he wasn’t going to wait ten years for her to figure it out. He was tired of waiting for the good things to come his way. He didn’t know what it was, but something about this Mary seemed good to him. Real good, and he wasn’t going to give up just because she couldn’t envision the benefits of dating a fella that was good with his hands.

“I tell you what, you ride once around this block, just once, and if you don’t like it, I’ll leave you alone forever.” He said, dropping the stub of his cigarette and grinding it down with the heel of his boot. “Just once.” He held up a single finger.

She snorted. Behind him, the street appeared orange under the lights as the sun dipped lower and the shadows grew longer. A lot of stories – a lot of good stories – have started under such lights with the wind whipping past open windows and music blasting on the stereo.

He opened the passenger door and waved for her to come, hoping that his wait was over.