Cars Archives - The Pure Life of Dreams

March 2, 2023May 2, 2023

No Longer Fit for the Party

I am in Paris in the banlieues and I am going to a party. Or at least I think I was invited. And I am parking my car on a deserted dusty brown and ill-lit side street. There are no other cars at first but when I park I find myself trying to squeeze in between a white van and a blue car. I have to shift my car back and forth to maneuver it into the space.

Once I am satisfied I get out, but my car is bumpered up against the blue car behind me.

The definition of curb and road is poorly defined as if it is a construction site and the dust of the concrete has blurred the partition.

It will do, I think, as I walk away, even though I see that I am a good two feet from the curb.

So I walk to the party, somebody’s house, and there are students there, a younger crowd, different nationalities, and they are having a good time. In one room, a few are lying on the floor under a beige duvet, laughing as they throw pillows on top of each other.

I go to another room, I think the kitchen, and a woman in a black dress, loose-fitting, says something to me about her phone but I am not paying attention. I see her breasts pop out from her dress, they are small and pert, with dark brown nipples. Her breasts are too small for her dress, and she looks annoyed or uncomfortable that I saw that. She pulls up the strap of her dress and walks away.

I lean out the window, look out at the houses opposite. Each balcony is brightly colored with sheets and shirts hung up on clotheslines. It looks homely, but happy, with an ease, the same ease as the people at the party.

Then it dawns on me, I don’t love my life. ~~Wife.~~

I return to the room where they are throwing the pillows, but I don’t fit in, I need to leave and I pull out my phone to see the way. Only it is not my phone, it is square with a blue screen and it has a different provider so I take it back to the woman with the black dress.

Black dress thinks that I took it from her, I can tell. She has an Irish accent. As she steps away I see she has a black wart on her back, just above her left shoulder blade.

These people are having fun, they love each other, or are comfortable, and I know I don’t belong. I sour the party. So I pull out my own phone this time and pull up the map. And the map’s locations are in French with some Arabic but the phone has only 1% battery and I need to hurry.

Back outside I am looking for my car and the streets are filled with life, new stalls brightly lit, people heading somewhere, or browsing, or with dinner plans, or rendezvous, or other parties to go to. I walk past them to my car only it is not where I thought it would be. There is a different line of cars, even on the dark street where I thought I’d parked.

I return to the main street, then back again to double check, but my car is not to be found. And I go up to a stall decorated with purple and white awnings advertising medical options or a pharmacy, I cannot tell. A white mortar and pestle are painted on the awning.

The owner is closing up but I duck under the awning to get some light on my phone. As I pull up the map I realize that I cannot get home without it. I’ve never been to this part of Paris before and I won’t be able to intuit my way back.

And the phone now indicates 0%.

I don’t want to, but my only choice is to return to the party to charge it even a little.

Photo by Viktor Solomonik on Pexels

February 9, 2023February 9, 2023

Beware these Restaurants in Chinatown

I am driving to Alexandria, Chinatown, with Lizzie for some good Chinese food. The road after the bridge is very steep, maybe 40 degrees, but it is straight up. I think the car will manage. But Lizzie goes on ahead, she’s faster, with her little black Vespa.

And I am trying to shout directions from my car but she continues to climb further away.

March 31, 2022October 22, 2022

Family Drive in the Country Turns Irritating

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

December 28, 2021October 22, 2022

Out on the Tiles in Chelsea

I am driving around town in a very fancy white car top down. Think I’m in Chelsea, because of the tall brown town houses in courtyards with gated parks.

In my hand I have a broken golf ball, a tiny stone poking from one end that I can push back into the ball with my thumb. And when I squeeze the ball from the other side, the stone pokes back out. I play with it, pushing, squeezing. It could cause some damage, but the stone doesn’t want to propel from the ball no matter how hard I squeeze.

I could try to throw it.

November 11, 2021December 9, 2022

The Light in the Attic

Siobhan comes to bed. Turn off the music, she says. I am half asleep but I reach over and hit the mute button.

“Do I have to do it?!” She sounds annoyed, as she comes round to my side of the bed.

“I did it already!” I reply.

Later on, I am fully asleep when she reaches over, gently touches my arm.

“What is the time?” she asks. But I am asleep. She reaches further over.

“Ngghh,” I mutter and I push out at her. “Why you waking me?” And I push her more.

“Don’t fight me,” she exclaims, “I am not a ghost!”