To The Moon And Back
It’s six months gone. Every day, I cloak myself in a fancy suit and swirl my bow tie. It’s my signature, the bow tie. I’m mighty proud of my upper-crust couture in this hick town. When I ride to work with the top down, I close my eyes for a handful of seconds – not long enough to endanger anyone – and I pretend the wind on my face is the breath of my dreams.
For a few stolen moments, I’m exactly where I want to be.
I wheel into my special place, marked with my name, and I assume my position. The one near the heavy glass doors. I make small work of those behemoth creatures, as I greet each looker with a genuine, car salesman smile. What’s funny is that most of them like me, the version of me I let them see. I know I’m charming. It always got me into trouble.
I’m a new man now.
But, I wasn’t prepared for what the wind blew in today. A raging drunk of a man, looking for a truck. Wheezed a distillery in my face when he said, “Don’t you rip me off now, y’hear?” He stumbled around the showroom for the better part of an hour, me being as gracious as I could.
At the end of it, the wind blew different somehow.
I turned back to the door, to catch the newcomer, when he screeched, “I told you to wait in the car!”
She only smiled, lit by sunlight from behind, all dark hair and pale skin. A masculine beauty in the circle of her face. While I fought for the right words, she stuck out her hand. “Don’t mind my father. We’ll take that vehicle, just there.”
“I’m Arthur.” I stammered and allowed my fingers to encircle her boyish hand.
“I’m Penelope. A pleasure.”
A fiction series. Long overdue. Because, you must be well-and-truly-sick of reading about my life by now. So, what happened to that door? A series of possibilities. I’ll explore one or several. If it was even a door I passed at an intersection on the way to an appointment. Read the first installment here, the second installment here, the third installment here and the fourth installment here.