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Greta in the Driver’s
Seat
By Amber Frangos
Greta Wild checked her lipstick in the
rear view mirror, gave herself a mental pat on the back and drove the
maroon Volvo out of the concrete driveway only smashing two begonia
plants as she drove to pick up her husband of forty five years.
The road trip they had planned since
their honeymoon was going to be a reality. She set her Triple AAA quick
trip maps next to the cell phone she barely knew how to use, but her
daughter insisted she take in case they careened off the highway in
peril. Next to that was her bag of nutty crunch granola and an itinerary
that would shame any tourist agency.
Greta wore the turquoise dress that
Howell loved, but she always hated. She had her hair teased and combed
just the way Howell liked it and she chose to wear his favorite perfume,
Tabu. She never liked the scent, but she felt dangerous wearing a
perfume by that name.
She reached the four way stop
intersection near the end of her block and remembered she forgot to
latch her seatbelt. She secured the seatbelt and wondered what else she
had forgotten. She closed and locked the backdoor, put her jewel box
under the pot roast in the freezer, but something was amiss. The coffee
pot?
Greta took one hand off the steering
wheel and checked her watch. Aggie should be there by now. She pulled
the car off the road, turned on the hazard lights and dialed her
daughter.
"Don't lecture me, Aggie," Greta said,
"Did I leave the coffee pot on?"
Her daughter heaved a heavy sigh that
said, mom, you are too old to take a road trip with dad. Mom, you are
too old to be out this late in the evening. Mom, you are just too old.
"You remembered to turn off the coffee
pot," Aggie said, "but if you can't remember if you turned the coffee
pot off, how are you going to navigate the entire country?"
"Never you mind, I'll call you in
Albuquerque," Greta said.
She hoped Howell was ready.
"Greta, how are you faring?" Mr. Pool
asked.
Greta nodded too overcome with emotion to
speak.
"I've got your permits right here, you're
good to go," Mr. Pool said.
"Anywhere?" Greta asked.
"Anywhere in the contiguous United
States," Mr. Pool said.
"We'll be off then," Greta said.
Greta buckled Howell in the front
passenger seat of the Volvo, drove out of Pool and Son's Funeral Home
parking lot and thought the black and gold trimmed urn sitting next to
her was the prettiest one she had ever seen. |
