It was almost 4 o’clock! I thought I was holding my keys but I wasted more than enough time fishing them out of my bag. Quickly I locked my front door, swung the bag over my shoulder and power-walked with my car keys tight in my fist. Upon approaching my car a pain expanded in chest and my stride was interrupted as I reacted silently to the state of my brand new car! It was wrecked! My perfect car was rear-ended by some idiot who drove right into my fender! Are you kidding me! Seriously? It was parked! My car was parked! If you can’t drive, why would get in a car!
I’m squeezing my head as sounds of disbelief reached my ears—why is this happening? This can’t be happening; this cannot be happening! This absolutely can’t be happening to me. I’m already so late! I don’t have time for this! but in approaching the driver’s seat I’m following the slicing of my side door! Not only did the offender crash my fender and bust my light but they shredded my door like angry girlfriend. What have I done to deserve this! I’m already late as it is.
“Sawyer!” called a neighbor, raising his hand in greeting. “Sawyer, I’m sorry what happened to your Bug, there. I had my boy behind the wheel this morning.”
John clicked his seatbelt and asked his son to adjust the rearview mirror. His son tingled all over. The boy was touching the mirror for the first time, and the experience of turning the ignition on was another powerful feeling. “Now what you do is gently—” John began before the old Reliable K encountered the only Volkswagen Beetle on 32 Aberdeen Lane. John considered it a love tap; harmless hit; anyone would cause such a thing. Especially parallel-parkers.
John could have positioned the car at an angel, or parked it in the open street then switched seats, but he wanted to this to be a lesson for his son. John peeked over his raised nose and brushed the incident off. There was no damage he could see. He then instructed the boy to reverse the car, (which was achieved with care) and then switch into Drive so they could plow out—but carefully. The boy started well until the Reliant K nudged into the car ahead which now wobbled stiffly. Without a word, the young driver shifted into reverse before swerving out of this situation the best he could as anxiety was now surrounding him and pushing him to get out of this claustrophobic situation as soon as possible. But it was a tragic idea. John braced himself, saying “No, No—Stop! Stop!” as the boy steered the car with stammering hesitant which skidded the mercury-green paintjob from the freshly-bought, pre-owned Volkswagen Beetle of 32 Aberdeen Lane. There were only two Beetles within the area, and the other was a classic shade of obsidian. Now the second Beetle of the Aberdeen area was two-toned: green, with a naked stripe along its side door.
