Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Cam's Truck, Sue's Parking & Austin's Wet Shirt
We're extremely wedged between Zareen's champagne colored late-90s Chevy Suburban and a "cherry picker" (think that holds motors when you need to work on them outside the car. Also, I have never met Cameron's sister, but I've heard about her a little. I have no idea what car she drives but I highly doubt it's a Suburban)
For a moment, I see the car from the outside. The collision is dramatic.I see the tired, mechanical corner digging into the white paint on the bumper, in slow-motion, watching the tiny paint flakes and metal shards fly in the air like an explosion.
Austin is standing in front of Sue and Cam's house in the street. There is a large, old oak tree growing through the asphalt. The street isn't disturbed or broken, it's as if the tree grew there naturally, a soft transition in nature.
He's having an absolute fit about something. He's wearing a plain, white tee shirt and his arms are crossed at his chest, literally stomping/marching around the tree. Red with anger. Reminds me of a child's tantrum.
Austin has his shirt off. He is holding the white shirt in the air and screaming about how his shirt got wet somehow.
He reaches up to the tree and breaks off a large, leafless branch about 4 feet long and thick enough that he can't get his hand all the way around.
All four of us are in the truck. Sue is driving, Cam's in the seat beside her and Austin and I are seated in the back: I'm behind Sue.
She is holding the tee shirt down near her feet on the left side of the steering wheel and she gets a little frustrated and says, "This is a really bad angle for me, my back hurts." She hands me the shirt in a damp wad.
Then I wake up.