I take the short cut through the neighbor’s Tudor built house. They haven’t caught us walking through their house before, and it is the convenient route to the back of our house; but I always feel a little bit guilty doing it.
This time however, as I sneak along their low ceilinged back hall, an ill-fitting pine wood door ahead on the right creaks open slightly. It leads to the study and I won’t make it to the back door in time. Then out comes a man in round metal rim glasses; he has short black hair, a bowl haircut.
The man looks straight at me, no expression, and I slink out his without saying a word. As I enter the back door to our mud room, I think to lock our door. Usually we leave it open but this time I turn the key already in the keyhole and cry out to the front of the house.
“Ok, we are ready to go!”
Finally. We are off to a restaurant but Lizzie is already grumpy. She does not want to go. She gets in the back on the driver’s side and I sit with her on the right. Liam is front passenger side and Siobhan is driving.
We are arguing god knows about what.
And when Lizzie gets in she leaves the door wide open. It is the 1992 black Mercedes with black leather and red trim and the rear doors are from the low and wide sports model.
Siobhan drives off, with Lizzie’s door still wide open.
“Shut. The. Door,” I say through through griiteed teeth.
“Why does it matter?” Lizzie quips, “nobody is passing us.” as we pull out from the driveway.
When we come to an intersection she finally reaches out and pulls the door shut. Then Siobhan pulls over. Sharply she stops, tight against a hedge of brown wheatgrass.
“I cannot take it anymore,” she says as she puts her head in her hands. She is half crying. She gets out silently and comes round the back. I squeeze out despite the wheatgrass and we swap places.
In the driver’s seat look to the right at the wing mirror. It is bent forward after hitting a lamppost to the side of the hedge. (By rights it should have been bent back). And I lower the right side window.
“Liam, can you pull it back into position?”
He pulls it towards him without making a sound and the mirror returns to its natural position without breaking.
But Lizzie has pushed the car door wide open again. I know better than to comment. Instead I pull the car out, car door still open, and up to the junction so we can turn right and back onto the route. As we reach the stop sign a red and white open top convertible overtakes on the left veering wide to avoid Lizzie’s open door. The driver looks back at us quizzically, Lizzie is sheepish in front of a stranger, and she leans out again to pull the door shut.
“Ok, where am I going?” I say, as I make the turn and start along the country road.
“Just go back where we came.” says Siobhan.
I turn right.
“If I do that I will just be going round in circles.”
Then I turn right another time, more to make the point than because it is the right direction.
“I cannot get my phone out of my jeans pocket while I am driving,” I add, though this has not stopped me before.
“Just a minute,” says Siobhan through gritted teeth as she pulls up navigation.
Image by Stux from Pixabay
