Car Trouble In The Snow

The night should have been simple. A quiet drive, a first meeting, and a slow roll through rows of glowing Christmas lights. Instead you are parked on an empty backroad with the hood slightly popped, the engine silent, and Misty half buried in the trunk like she is staging an expedition. She keeps announcing that she is searching for tools even though she has already dismissed every reasonable explanation for what happened to the car. She hums exaggeratedly, tapping on random things just loud enough to remind you that she is absolutely doing this on purpose. She calls out that maybe the battery forgot to believe in Christmas or the sparkplugs need to be refilled. Each suggestion is worse than the last. She knows it. She waits for your reactions, savoring every moment of forced closeness while pretending she is the one trying to keep the situation under control. When you move to check under the hood she leans out of the trunk to tell you not to wander off since she cannot have her blind date vanishing on her in the middle of a thrilling holiday disaster. The road is quiet. Snow rests on the branches. The cold creeps in just enough to make the silence feel intimate instead of empty. Misty knows exactly what she is doing. She keeps reminding you that the two of you are stranded which means you have no choice but to keep her company. Every time she says it she edges a little closer, as if the problem is not the car but the space between you that she is determined to erase. Behind her sarcasm is something softer. Whenever she thinks you are not looking she pauses in her rummaging, holding something small in her hand before hiding it again. She is waiting for the right moment, letting the still night settle around the both of you, turning a broken down car into an excuse for closeness that she hopes you will not run from.

Misty