My hands rub over the smooth, white paint as I rub the wax evenly over the hood. Each circle that my hand makes produces a little squeak and moan as the cloth rubs over the paint. Another circle is made and then I stop to look over my work, smiling gently and then kneeling down to collect some more wax to polish the car with.
The day has been relaxing, almost strangely so. But, enjoying it too much, I do not bother to question the circumstances and simply embrace it and take advantage of it. The weather has been calm, warm and the day has slinked by smoothly with no interruption. And, being Sunday, I had no work to do and the entire day to spend with myself.
My attention has been brought to my old car, which I hide out in a barn behind my home. There I spent most of the day polishing it and enjoying the music which drifts lazily from an old transistor radio in the corner. The work of my own two hands has taken in my attention, bringing me relaxation and keeping me busy.
After nearly four hours of taking care of my baby, I find myself finishing up my work as the sun drifts down below the forest across the field to the left of the house. Sarah should be returning home here soon, but, there is no rush. There hasn’t been a rush to get anything done all day, which I find delightful.
I continue to wax the car and keep my hands and mind busy. In the corner, I listen to the radio as a song I haven’t heard in several years begins to play. It’s Purple People Eater by Sheb Wooley, which is a name that hasn’t come to my mind in more than a decade; well, since it was published, actually. When I hear it play, I can do nothing but chuckle. It brings back so many memories, which, thankfully, most of them are good. That must have been nearly fourteen or fifteen years, I suppose. Such a long time can pass and yet seem so short.
The creak of brakes hits my ears as Sheb goes into the first chorus and lifting my head up, I look around to the open wooden door leading out into the driveway. I let go of the waxy rag and then slowly step towards the open door, smiling and thinking loving thoughts of my wife. My footfalls crunch quietly on the hay strewn about on the concrete floor as I walk towards the open door.
Sunshine shines in through the open doorway, making me tilt my head as if I can see around it better. As I approach the doorway, the door of the car slams shut and I hear a paper bag crunch. Stepping into the doorway, I look out over the sunny driveway and to the side of our new Plymouth Duster where Sarah stands.
Chuckling, I put my arm up onto the doorframe and then cross my legs, smiling as I watch Sarah lift a paper bag filled with groceries up towards her head. She struggles at first to lift it up but, after blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she holds it tight and then lifts her eyes up towards me.
“Hi Don!” She calls out.
I smile wider and then cock my head to the side as I look up and down over Sarah’s wolf body. She sees me doing this and, playfully, shakes her hips. I laugh and then look away, shaking my head a few times. When I look up again, I see Sarah put the groceries down onto the ground and begin to walk my direction.
Her body is framed in blue jeans and a blue t-shirt and she struts towards me in black and white cowboy boots that she loves so dearly. Smiling, her green eyes are pinned on me tightly as she walks. I smile wide, but never show my teeth, and step away from the doorframe.
Sarah quickens her pace as she nears me and, putting her arms up, rushes to me. As she nears me, I reach out and grab her waist. Lifting her into the air, I spin around several steps, swinging her lovingly. Then, lowering her back to the ground, I pull her into my body and embrace her.
Throwing her arms around my neck, Sarah embraces me back and growls lowly, lovingly. Her face presses against mine, her eyes clenched shut, as her tail thrashes behind her happily. After the longest time, she finally loosens her embrace and slides from my body.
As she steps away from me, I lower my eyes and look directly into hers. Her beautiful green eyes shine in the twilight, sparkling and gleaming like pearls. Her grey fur is so shiny, so well kept and beautiful. It is most likely as soft as silk and as smooth as velvet, too. Smiling, I lean forward and press my nose to hers and see her smile back and then chuckle.
“Stop it, Don.” She says happily. “What have you been up to all day?”
She pushes away from me and then looks around me.
“Aw, you’re not still messing around with that old ‘63 Cutlass, are you?” She asks me.
I turn and look back towards the pearly white convertible with arctic white interior and white wall tires and smile. I then look back to Sarah and just chuckle. She looks to me and then begins to walk towards it. Swinging my body around and sinking my hands into my jeans pockets, I follow Sarah as she walks.
“Well, it looks nice.” Sarah says happily. “I haven’t seen the old bird in nearly a year, because you’ve had it locked away.”
She steps up to its front panel and then runs a gentle paw pad along its recently-waxed surface. Chuckling at the sensation of the wax running against her pad, she continues to the door and then opens it up. I step into the barn after her but stop just before the fore wheel well.
Sarah slips into the driver’s seat and then slams the door shut, which fills the barn with a loud bang before the sound dissipates through the walls. Putting her hands on the chrome steering wheel, she looks through the windshield and then smiles. The only thing I can hear is the sound of the music drifting slowly out of the speakers of the radio in the corner.
The music disappears after a Beatles song off their very last album plays and a voice begins to thunder through it. It sounds like some sort of news cast, but, I haven’t heard a newscast on this radio station before. Either way, the newscast seems to be very urgent as the disc jockey’s voice sounds strained and upset.
“This breaking newscast comes straight from FBI headquarters in Washington, DC, our nation’s capital.” The DJ says quickly through the microphone. “The fight against the Red Menace and The Vietcong has worsened as the government suspects a spy to be traveling through the heartland of America, possibly through Montana.”
Sarah’s smile slowly slips away and she turns her head towards the radio, just as I have done moments ago. Her eyes fall upon the wooden box and hold there, her smile now entirely disappeared. Returning my eyes to the radio, I wait for an update on the status of the Vietnam War and the Cold War as well.
“As you all know, the United States Government expects anything, I repeat, anything from the Soviets, even such things meant for comic books and cartoons. Be on the lookout for what the FBI describes as a super-powered wolf wearing metal armor, cloaked beneath an overcoat and hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. He can only be described as dangerous, unpredictable and of unknown identity. We suspect that he is the product of a Soviet experiment to create an artificial life form as to infiltrate the United States. Be on the lookout, but, do not confront him directly. If seen, call the police and flee to the nearest bomb shelter. Thank you and we shall return to the normal programming with this year’s favorite song, American Pie by Don McLean.”
When the voice disappears and music begins to play once again, I lower my eyes to the ground. I am filled with a strange feeling, like an itching at the back of my mind that I can’t find to scratch. Something’s wrong, there’s something out of place, but, I can’t seem to locate it.
“A metal man,” Sarah says, “the Soviets are making metal men? That’s just too strange.”
Lifting my eyes, I look towards Sarah and watch as she turns around in the driver’s seat and look towards me happily. She smiles and then cocks her head to the left, trying to get me to put my two cents in to this one-way conversation.
“I mean, if the Soviets really wanted to infiltrate the US government, I’d figured they’d have something better than mechanical furs.” Sarah says.
She looks over my face, wondering if I am ever going to say anything, but, not deterred from getting me to have a conversation with her, begins to speak again.
“I don’t know what I would do if I were to run into that robot.” Sarah says. “I couldn’t even look at a robot without screaming and running. I don’t know how somebody can even be near one and be able to live. I think all that I could do is scream and run. The only thing I could think of doing is getting away from that monster. What a monster. Yeah, monster, that’s the word. Huh, Don?”
I look up to her and then look downwards again. Stepping forward, I stop just along the front of the car and stare down into the extremely shiny surface of the car and to the reflection of the pure white wolf that looks back. Placing my handpads down onto the paint, I look at my face and frown.
“Yeah,” I say as I see a red twinge in my eyes, “what a monster.”
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This is just a little idea that I've been rolling around in my mind. Leave comments, please, because every little comment lets me know that you're reading! Let me know what you think about the idea and whether or not you would enjoy reading something like this. Thanks for your time and, in the spirit of the seventies, keep on keeping on.