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Two Short Stories


Short Story 1

I was selling my old car. Old large Olds. I had just bought a newer one, a Jeep. Not that I am snobbish about my cars; as a matter of fact I don't give a hoot who drives what, and especially about what I drive, it's just that having four wheels was a basic necessity in the kind of place I lived in. The Olds was a character rusty (two doors do rust bad over time), with dents all over its fenders and missing one front grill. That's what gave it the most character. It actually looked toothless.
Otherwise it was a fine car—I took care of it changing oil and stuff, and it responded well, never giving me much headache. I took several long trips across the country and it never failed me. Over the years I grew attached to it, I would pet the steering wheel while driving; I would even talk to it sometimes. It would listen to me with a grim toothless smile.
And now it was time for it to go. I wouldn't have the heart to send it to a junkyard, and I would linger with putting "For Sale" sign onto the windshield.
Eventually I went down to a local DMV, and registered the Jeep. That was the final ride I took the Olds for. After we came back I parked it at the bottom of my driveway, not in the garage as usual, locked it up and went towards my house. Before entering the door I looked back. She was looking at me, grim and toothless, with rain droplets on her windshield. This way an old, beaten by life woman looks at her man, who goes away to a more attractive younger female. I'm not really a sensitive type, but I felt like a bastard. And every time I remember this I feel the same.

Hewitt, 9/1996

Short Story 2

Ancient God

I was about to pay a visit to God. We talked about it for a long time (we both are pretty busy folks) and eventually we matched our schedules for the next Saturday evening.

About 3 p.m. I took my car and got going. The road was a long one—he lived in a middle of a large round mesa, plus the last part of the road was not even paved. "They say in municipality, that being God, I don't need a paved road"—he used to joke. "Sure—" I always replied, "Your road taxes at work". He would always laugh at this.

In about forty minutes I had reached the unpaved part, which was about 8 miles long, and immediately it started to rain. The rain was becoming harder and harder, and seemed to concentrate exactly over the mesa. My car was not really equipped to deal with bumpy dirt roads in a rainy weather (when am I going to by an off-roadster), and the ride was quickly becoming an uncomfortable one. Then came the hail. First a small caliber, it quickly became the largest hail I saw in my entire life. I could almost hear my car moaning and swearing at the weather, me and God every time it would hit a bump or caught a significant piece of hail. And then I saw the house. I hadn't been there for a long time and I could tell it was well taken care of, even though the house and all around had an air of some loneliness to it. Maybe because it was wet and dark, and still hailing. I don't know.

I parked as close as I could and rushed into the front door, almost knocking down God, who was waiting inside in a dark spot of a corridor. He laughed cheerfully, than shook off some droplets off my jacket and gave me a hug. Actually we gave each other a hug, and then he said: "Dam' glad to see ya, man. You've made it. Didn't really think you'd come. Roads look like crap today".

Hewitt, 1996

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