Sunday, September 6, 2015

welcome to my world

welcome to my world



The car wouldn't start in the illuminating grocery store parking lot. It was getting dark and Charlie guessed she'd have to pop the hood and see what was up. Probably the starter. She'd mentioned it to Carson. Naturally, he went off on why would Draco's parents just give her a piece of junk. So as usual, nothing got fixed.

Charlie sighed, trying to remember what Draco's father said to do. Even Sky knew a few tricks he shared. Of course, she didn't really know what she was doing.

"What are you doing here?" She heard someone say, but she didn't look up right away.

"Oh, its just being a poop, right now." She finally noticed it was that guy from Essie's party. "Scott's brother, right? Barry?"

"Just his cousin." He smiled. "What's wrong?" He was holding a recycled bag with milk and bread.

"The starter. I think." She was by no means a mechanic, but thought she would be, by the time she was through with this old sedan that once belonged at the police station. The back doors didn't even work. It was a nervous contraption to be in. If only she could afford a new car, but that would never happen.

The radio didn't even work. She was probably the only person in town who toted around a Hello Kitty cassette player for all of Lily's tunes.

He took a look then, but didn't come up with any remedy. She went to look in the trunk.

He was about to call for a tow truck.

"Don't do that." She put the wrench in where Sky said to put it. She turned on the ignition. The car came to life. Charlie sighed in relief.

"Thanks." She smiled.

"Well, I didn't do anything." He looked her.

"You, kept the bad guys away." She sighed ever so pleasant.

"You, would have probably beat them off with that wrench." He slightly smirked.

"Probably." She did like his smile. She thought of how happy Essie and Scott were together. A part of her wanted to know the pleasure. But her life was sort of like the rundown car. Things like that weren't suppose to happen to someone like her.

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