The car was in front of the house on the other side of the fence, but it didn’t quite look right. He’d pulled forward a little too far again, and now purple of her tulips were clashing horribly with his orange 350Z. Hadn’t she told him time and again–time and again–to park his car so the purple flowers weren’t backdropped by the body, but instead the tires because nothing could go so well with purple as black. But there it was anyway, for the whole neighborhood to see, purple and a glittery orange. How embarrassing.
She let the curtain fall shut and turned to her husband. Gordon sipped a beer, his arm thrown over the backrest of the sofa the remote on his lap, his crew cut sexy and trim but slightly uneven. She’d get him a better stylist, that was unacceptable. She could see–what did they call those boob muscles on men?–his chest muscles under his shirt. He always took his button down off as soon as he got home. He thumbed the remote and took a sip of beer.
“Babe,” she said.
“Yeah?” his eyes flicked to her, then back to the wide flat screen.
“You pulled forward too much and my tulips are clashing with your car.”
The side of his lip curled. He did that when he thought she was being irrational, she knew. But hadn’t she told him? Really, time and again?
“You can move it.”
“I can’t,” she said. I don’t drive stick.
“You don’t need to drive,” he said. “just let it roll backward a little. It’s not in gear, you just have to let off the parking brake.”
“On the table.”
She table was cluttered with mail. He’d dumped it there even though they had a designated mail catch. It even had name tags so you could sort out the mail according to whom it was addressed to. That mail catch was a labor of love and did anyone appreciate it?
She barely fit in the car. It wasn’t because she was large, no. She was just long, she’d always been long. Long neck, long arms, long legs. And thin, too. good genes, dad always said. She thought he was right. But trying to slide into the driver’s seat she was suddenly wishing God had given her some shorter legs. How Gordon fit in here–nobody knew. He was a good deal bigger than she was and it was his daily driver.
One hand on the wheel, she let off the parking brake. The driveway was on the smallest slant imaginable. With one foot on the brake pedal Margret pushed the ground with the other. The car crept backwards. She didn’t let it go more than six inches before she pulled the parking brake. She got out of the car and walked around to the other side. She looked at her tulips. They were so regal backdropped but the flat back of the tire. Much better. She went back around to the driver side of the car and was just about to swing the door shut when she noticed a mess of black and colored wires protruding from under the dash on the left side of the drivers seat. A small cube with a small light set into it was wrapped up in them. It wasn’t on. She closed the door and clicked the fob and the car beeped signalling locked.