The Girl in Red

A Thursday Prompt story
© 2020 by Walter Reimer


Prompt: anorak


The snarl of large, over-tuned engines and the thud of tires on the dirt road made me happy that I had my hood up to cover my ears. This year’s rally was a great success so far. Hundreds of furs were clustered on either side of the road, and our breaths rose like fog in the raw, damp air.

There’d only been two crashes, and a half-dozen spectators had been injured. People always want to get as close as possible to a ton of hurtling metal as it bounces randomly along the track at high speed, even to standing out in the middle of the course to capture that perfect picture.

Some lunatic Italian pointer was driving the lead car with the same general dash and verve as a mental patient hopped up on catnip. He took a hill at almost exactly the wrong angle and the exact wrong speed; the Lancia landed smack on its nose, executed a flawless backward somersault and landed back on its wheels. The crowd roared as Mostaccioli revved the car and it leaped away down the road as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the field followed hot on the pointer’s heels, filling the air with the stink of exhaust fumes, burned oil and rubber, leaving us all cheering and coughing.

That was when I saw her.

She was canine, unlike me, but she had the sharp, pointed muzzle of a collie poking out of her hood. Her movements under the shapeless mass of her jacket promised certain delights that I knew I had to see.

But she was on the other side of the race course, and as I gazed at her she turned around and began making her way through the crowd. Toward town.

I confess that I took my life in my paws by crossing the road, but I made it across unscathed and started imitating a salmon, swimming upstream against the tide of nondescript furs, trying desperately to keep my eyes on the girl in red.

People paused and turned to see me run past them, a few shaking their heads. I finally caught up with her as she entered a storefront establishment. The collie pulled back her hood, turning to see me catching my breath.

I looked on expectantly as she tugged down her zipper, and slowly removed her . . . rain jacket. “Do you come here often?” I asked, trying hard not to pant at the sight of the delights beneath the anorak’s surface.

“Why, yes,” the woman said in a breathy, alluring voice. “I come here every week to get tested.”


end