You're Stuck (October 2023)

You’re stuck.

You’re in that old car the color of a couch stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. The car broke down, and it’s getting dark. What are you going to do about it? You can call your dad, but he’s not exactly nearby. He can call Triple A for you since his name’s on your insurance, but they’ll take hours to get out here, too.

Guess you can push the car if you really want to.

…

Where would you push it to?

You pop the hood. The engine looks like something out of a bad science fiction movie from the 20’s. “Complex machinery just looks impressive,” you can hear the set designer say. It smells burnt. You can’t tell what’s burnt. It’s not doing that happy little rumbling it should be doing, and something is burnt, but that’s all you can put together.

Damn.

You slam the hood shut. You get back in the car, sit in the front seat. You twist the key again, just in case. Still nothing.

You check your phone. No one is wondering where you are yet. Your hand hovers over your dad’s number. No, that would be embarrassing. You’re supposed to be independent. That’s right. You can do this. No problem.

…

The tires! Forgot to check the tires.

You throw the door open and spring out of the seat. Wait, you’d still be able to turn the car on with a flat tire. You get back in the car.

Damn.

You’re still stuck.

Maybe someone is nearby. Someone who isn’t your dad. You pull up Google Maps and scroll up the road. There’s nothing. You scroll down the road, then you’re back at where you left. Where you left three hours ago. You’re not walking all that way.

A devil appears on your shoulder. “Call your dad,” he whispers. You refuse. Where did this guy come from, anyway? Screw him. Not calling your dad.

You slide out of the car, back to the hood, and stare into it. Check the oil? You remember how to do that. The dipstick slides out, you wipe it on the grass. Stick it in, pull it out. Easy.

…

That looks like the right level?

Maybe.

...Just put the stick back in.

...

Your phone says it’s 7:00. The sun has gone down. Your dad’s number glows on the screen like it’s taunting you. The devil starts looking smug. You look to your other shoulder for moral support. The angel isn’t even there. He probably left to get a soda or something. Quitter.

Your phone is still in your hand.

Ugh.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and press “call.”