The sound wasn’t quite like a truck, but it roared, then slowed. James looked up from the cow’s pen, Harold coming to his side.
“What the heck is that?” Harold asked.
“Think Pop bought a new truck?”
“Naw. He would have said something while we were at work today. Besides, it’s not loud enough for a truck. At least not loud enough for one Pop would drive.”
A car lurched into view, shot around the corner of the house with a burst of acceleration, then jerked to a stop. The engine faltered, came back to life, and the car yanked forward and stopped again.
“What the heck…” Harold muttered.
The engine roared, the car lurched, its nose swinging in a sharp arch that brought it to face the house, with the driver pitched to the side.
“God help her…”
The car ground to a stop, flinging a mop of hair over the steering wheel. The engine sputtered, coughed, and finally died. The driver’s door opened, and the head of disarrayed hair appeared over its top. Magdalena grinned and patted the roof of the car. “I drive now.” *
No more chains, where my skirts become entangled;
No more bars, that raise them too high.
Only seats with mirrors properly angled,
To see where I’ve been, where I’m going, bye-bye.
* Excerpt from, “Asked For”