The Show

There was high drama as I slept last night. Beefed up Mustangs and Aerostars aplenty. 

Wife and I were living at my parent’s house where I grew up. I was walking out to the driveway to retrieve the computers we left out near the street (these were the not-so-cleverly-titled “COWs,” or “computer-on-wheels” from my place of employment). I was able to roll one up into the garage, and when I was walking back out, a car drove up in the street.

I heard it before I saw it, as it was making some unbelievably loud clanking noise that cars normally don’t make. It was so loud I wanted to wince but I didn’t want the driver to have the satisfaction of seeing the effect the noise had on me, as I knew the driver was doing it on purpose. I had almost reached the end of the driveway when the car, now right out in front of me, flashed its lights at me.

It was a white car that looked similar to a late 2000s model Mustang, thought it was much bulkier. It had some gold stripes running along the side of it, and huge, low-profile tires. When it flashed at me, I kind of froze, not knowing what to do next. It was as if it was saying to me, “hey, watch this,” and then it began to do donuts in the cul-de-sac. Smoke everywhere. That loud noise continued.

I decided to leave to computers where they were and get them later. This person behind the wheel seemed unstable and I wanted to get somewhere safe. I got back into the garage and sort of hid behind my parents ’84 Ford Aerostar which was parked in its usual spot on the right side. I ducked in front of the car, at the back of the garage, and looked out through the windows.

At some point, my wife joined me in the garage to see all the commotion, and that’s when things changed.

It became dark outside. The white car parked across the street, in a neighbor’s driveway. The driver emerged and it was a tall brunette woman who looked to be in her mid 20s. She stood out in the street, looking into our garage. She signaled to my wife, somehow, that she was there for her. She also looked through the van’s windows at me. I thought there was no way she could see me, not in the darkness, but she looked right at me like she knew I was there. I told my wife to go back inside, but instead, she ducked behind the front of the van and hid with me.

That was when two men arrived on the scene. They approached the driver of the white car and started tying her up with rope. At some point, they stripped most of her clothes off. My heart started pounding. I was frightened. I just wanted to get our COWs back inside and close the garage door.

My wife, who was now carrying a laundry basket in effort to show these people outside that she was unfazed by all of this, that she was still going about her normal routine, stood up from behind the van and made her way inside. The driver pleaded with her, but didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. It was all in her expression.

The men who had her tied up now produced a machete and cut the side of her cheek. At this point, I’m alerted to the fact that everything that is happening in the street is staged. I can tell the blood on her cheek is fake. I can tell they are being a little too gentle with her. The whole thing is just a show.

Now that my wife was inside, the driver’s focus turned to me. Not to tell me that the show is for me, but to tell me that she aims to somehow influence my wife. Although her purpose was unclear.

She continued to make eye contact with me. Knowing I was there. Seeing through the darkness. The men end up leaving, and the show was over. The white car was back in the cul-de-sac, and driver’s side door open. The woman was crumpled in the driver’s seat, naked and bloodied. She wasn’t moving.

My wife returned to the garage. She told me she was going to get the computers now and bring them in. I wondered if it was the right move, but I also wondered if maybe the woman would speak to her, tell her what her purpose was.

My wife retrieved the COWs and rolled them into the garage. No movement from the driver. I told my wife to close the garage door. I kept my eye on the driver as the door lowered. Right before she was blocked from my vision, her eyes opened. She was staring right at me once again. Seeing. Knowing.

When the garage door was down, my wife and I raced upstairs to look out the window into the street. By the time we made it up there, though, the street was empty. She was already gone.


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