Part II: Loud, Proud, and Likely to Crowd; or Maybe Next Time We Walk

Haven’t read Part One?  It was yesterday.  Click here.  Go on!  It’s only 410 words or so – we’ll wait for you…

I cannot hear Mary over the rumbling thoroughness of the diesel engine.  Her lips are moving, however.

I walk from the back end of the truck to the passenger window, which is now down.

“What?!” I yell.

“What kind of room do I have?”

I look to the back of the truck, try to calculate how far it is from the end of it to the next row of cars. 

“Ummm,” I yell, squinting a bit, “about two, maybe two and a half basketball players?”

Mary nods grimly, looks down at the car next to her side of the truck.  “Is that a Jaguar?” she yells.

I move toward it.  “Yep.”

“Uff da,” she hollers.  “I just gotta end up next to a Jaguar, don’t I?”  She cranes her neck to see the car on the passenger side.  “What is that?  A Toyota?”

I move to the other side of the truck.  “Yep,” I shout into the passenger window.  “So if you’re going to hit anything,” I bellow, “You’re going to want to hit this one.”

Mary nods. 

 “You ready?” I yell.  “Let’s get out of here.  Mah dogs are barkin’.”

“Are you any good at this?” she shouts.  “Directing people out of tight spots?”

“Oh, ja,” I yell, nodding vigorously.  “Four years in the service.  Used to guide planes onto aircraft landing decks.”

Mary’s eyes go wide.  “Did you really?”

I grin at her.  “No,” I shout.  “We’re probably going to ruin stuff.”

Mary laughs her devil-may-care laugh.  “Gotta go home one way or t’other,” she says, channeling her inner- and outer-scamp.   She tromps on the gas pedal  VRRRR-OOOOM.  VRRRR-OOOOOM.

I step to the back of the truck, hold both arms in the air.  “Come back,” I shout, waving my warm in a come-hither manner.  “Backbackbackbackbackback – STOP!  STOP!!!”

Mary’s head pops out of the passenger window.  “We okay?”

“No worries,” I yell.  “Now crank it to the right.”

“My right?”

“WHAT?” I yell.  “We’re facing the same direction!  It’s both of our rights!”

Mary gives me a big thumbs-up sign.  I watch as wheels the size of my first apartment move, glacier-like, over the snow-covered parking lot. 

I blow warm air on my un-gloved hands.  “OK!” I yell.  “Now straighten it out!  STRAIGHTEN IT OUT!”

The truck slowly straightens out.  I watch as she misses a car by, oh, the length of a carton of eggs.

Hey.  Clear is clear.

Mary pulls ahead as I run up to the passenger door.  “We good?”

“Yep,” I say, hoisting myself into the passenger seat.  “We’re better than good,” I say.  “We are the serving class.”

“Dagnabit, Pearl,” Mary says grimly.  “If we can’t get it done, ain’t nobody can.”

The 2004 Ford King Ranch Powerstroke Turbo Diesel, in sunnier times...