I posted a couple of paragraphs from my short stories a little while ago, and I mentioned that my story 240sx, or The Awesomely Tragic Death of a Car Named KITT in the Haunted Woods of Igoe is my favorite one of the bunch. The story is basically an ode to my old high school car, a black Nissan 240sx with flip-up headlights. I’ve not loved another car like I loved that car (but I’m super appreciative of my car, which gets me where I want it to go). So maybe that’s why it’s my favorite. Either way, I just love the story. But the piece of it that I posted was … not exciting.
There’s a reason I did this (but not a good reason). It’s because I love that story so much that I’m hoarding all the good parts for myself. But, that does me no good, so here’s a better part of the story, and maybe others will love it, too. (Male main character, fyi):
We all walked over to KITT and I unlocked the doors. I realized too late that Joel was standing near the backseat, ready to climb in after Sarah.
“No shotgun, Joel?” I said, trying to elbow him with the sharpness in my voice.
“No, dude.” He shook his head and opened the door for Sarah, then got in after her.
I stared across the top of the car at Colette who was standing at the passenger door. She stood there, waiting, like I was going to trot around the car and open the door for her.
“It’s open,” I said. I opened my door to illustrate how it’s done. “See?”
“No,” she said. “It’s not.”
I hit the unlock button on the inside of my door and she tugged again. Nothing.
“Still not open,” she said.
“Seriously?” I was already tired of this girl and we’d barely even talked. I hit the button again. “Try now.”
She did. “Nope.”
“Make sure you’re not opening it when I’m unlocking it,” I said. They don’t teach you how to open a car door in your genius classes? I thought. I hit the button again. “Try now.”
“No.”
“Oh my gosh, Colette. What is wrong with you?”
“Me?” she said. Her voice went up three octaves. “It’s the car, D.”
That was it. I slammed my door shut and walked around to her side, staring at her with icy eyes. “It’s. Not. The. Car.”
I stuck my key in the passenger door and turned it. It stuck. It wouldn’t budge beyond a quarter of a rotation. I could feel Colette’s redemptive stare on the back of my shoulders. I refused to look at her. I walked back to my side and got in the driver’s seat, then reached across and unlocked the passenger door and pushed it open for her.
“Get in,” I said.
“Chivalry lives,” she said, settling into the seat.
I really like that story….
Anyway, SOON I’ll have some sort of ebook with 4 short stories. One for each year of high school (different characters, though), and I’ll call it High School Stories. I have all of them finished except for the Senior Year story, which I’m working on right now!
christywrites 